


Dust

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Sam has a problem with dust. This fic was originally called Georgia,because that's where Sam goes.





	Dust

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Dust**

**by: Jen**

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh, Ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam has a problem with dust. This fic was originally called Georgia, because that's where Sam goes.  
**Author's Note:** Tenth in the Sam 'Breathing' series 

The gentle beams of summer sunlight warmed the tops of the trees, catching the high windows of the buildings beyond the park. Joyful birds swooped through the branches, not yet drowned out by the morning rush hour, and the crisp air was melting already into a balmy weightiness. Sam slowed to a slow jog as he reached the park entrance. He was feeling great. It was a beautiful dawn, he was ahead of schedule at work, and Josh had promised to make breakfast. 

He jumped in his car and drove back to their apartment, revelling in the warm and golden morning. To his delight, Josh had been true to his word and a heady aroma of coffee and warm bagels greeted Sam at the door. He showered quickly then joined Josh in the kitchen. Josh was standing at the bench and Sam hugged him from behind. 

"Hey!" Josh half turned, grinning. "You're happy." 

"I sure am." 

"How was your run?" 

"Great! I'm really doing well at the moment." Sam sat at the kitchen table, his eyes glowing, "I'm so pleased. Watch!" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "See, no cough!" 

Josh smiled at him indulgently, "Cool! You're still taking the preventative stuff though?" 

"Yeah, sort of. I figure until the weather really warms up, then - " he shrugged. 

"Maybe you'd be better taking it all the time?" 

"I'd rather not." Sam wrinkled his nose. "It'd be better to be fine without it." 

Josh set down a coffee in front of his partner, "I'd rather you took anything that helped prevent another attack." 

* 

Sam was still bubbly when Toby arrived in the office. "Hey, Toby, beautiful morning." 

Toby flicked one eyebrow in his direction, "Why?" 

Sam paced up and down in front of Toby's desk, gesticulating, as his boss unpacked his newspapers and took off his coat. "The sun's shining, I've been for a run, had a real breakfast and my work's ahead of schedule." 

Toby shook his head sadly, "It's hard, you know, to burst your bubble, and yet - " the faintest of smiles flickered across his face, "and yet, so eminently satisfying." 

Sam froze mid-pace, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, "What d'you mean?" 

Toby sat down heavily and took a notepad out of his satchel, "I got a call last night." 

Sam sighed, pivoted and flopped down on the sofa, arms flung out along the back. He crossed one foot over onto the other knee, "I'm ready, hit me with it." 

Toby stared at him for a beat, then looked down at his notes, "There's this issue brewing that may involve correspondence from the electoral office in Warm Springs, Georgia. I need you to go down there, collect the information, bring it back up here and go through it - " 

"Doesn't sound too onerous." 

"Before Friday." 

"Friday?" Sam's voice betrayed the tiniest of squeaks. 

"Friday." 

"Friday being?" 

"The President has an interview with the guy." 

"What guy?" 

"The guy in question. Am I irritating you?" 

"Yes!" Sam pouted at him. "It's Wednesday today." 

"I'd noticed." Toby looked at his notes again, "James Warner, former Sheriff and County Prosecutor, is reaching for a senior position in the Senate office, in legal proceedings - " 

"Course I know all about that, Devon O'Reilly's brother-in-law's in the running too." 

" - and I had a call last night from a man implying that Warner was involved in a rather awkward situation with a senior advisor at the CIA based in Atlanta - inasmuch as Warner was sleeping with the guy's wife at the time. This all happened over fifteen years ago, the second half of 1985. Thing is, the wife disappeared and it became a rather odd case, never investigated as a murder or anything suspicious. Now that Warner is rising up the ladder to Washington, someone wants to stop him. What we need from you is to go through the correspondence from that period, in the electoral office files, as that was where Warner was based for a time, getting out of the heat of Atlanta, and I don't mean physical heat! He apparently engaged in considerable correspondence with the CIA guy, and with the wife too, who worked in something like the EPA there." 

"By Friday?" 

"I think we've established that." 

"I have to get there, that's - uh - about nearly two hours to Atlanta, another flight to Columbus - that's another hour, drive to Warm Springs, or maybe just drive south from Atlanta, maybe an hour and a half -" 

"Hold it, you _know_ where Warm Springs is? _And_ how long it'd take to get there?" He stared at Sam, agog. Sam stared back, startled. Toby shook himself and waved a hand, "Carry on," he sighed. 

"Well, I have to get there, find what we need, bearing in mind we don't know the state of the system there or if they even have the records anymore -" 

"They do, but carry on." 

"-get it packed up, bring it back here, read it all, write a well-documented statement and deliver it to the President by Friday morning." 

"Before Friday." 

"B-b-before F-Friday." Sam had lost a little of his brimming confidence. He folded his arms and planted both feet on the floor, the frown deepening. Toby's lips twitched again. A very slight stutter only appeared when Sam was particularly thrown. He stood up and moved around the desk, hovering near the coffee table. 

"You could take Bonnie." 

"Really?" Sam brightened. "That'd make a difference." 

"I'll talk to her, get some reservations up and running. You might need to leave soon." Toby left and Sam sat there for a moment, thinking about the nominations. He had been unwell back when the names had come out, fighting a chest infection and scouting around on the Hill trying to get backing for a legislative change, and he had run into Devon O'Reilly... 

"Sammy, I heard you were trolling around for business up here today. How's it going?" 

Sam shrugged, "Think I'm done here for the day." He had coughed, holding a hand against the burning in his chest. "How come you're here?" 

"Oh, you're sick again. Come and have a drink with me, Sam." 

"Uh, I should probably head back - " 

"Medicinal. Brandy. Good for any ailment." Devon had waggled his eyebrows invitingly, and Sam, feeling somewhat like he'd fallen into a clip from the Blues Brothers, had wandered down to O'Reilly's beaten up old car and accepted a lift to a bar a fair few blocks away. 

"This is an Irish pub!" 

"What'd you expect? I'm meeting someone special here, we're waiting for news." 

Sam had been going to ask what news but had broken off into another coughing fit, Devon patting him on the back sympathetically. Inside the bar, they had met up with an attractive woman a few years older than Sam, who had embraced Devon warmly before turning to him, "You're Sam Seaborn. I'm so pleased to meet you." She held out her hand and Devon had leaned in, 

"Sammy, meet my sister, Anna. Anna Casey, Samuel Seaborn." 

After shaking her hand, Sam had turned to Devon in surprise, "I didn't know you had a sister here." 

"I didn't, but her husband is - " he paused for a little drama, "Simon Casey." Sam's eyes widened, and he went to speak but broke off, coughing again. Dev patted him on the back once more and led them both over to a booth before heading up to the bar. Anna sat opposite Sam, evaluating him, 

"You don't look so well, Sam." He was pale but his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were heavy. He pressed a hand against his aching chest, trying to take a breath that didn't burn. 

"Just a cough." 

Anna slid around the table and pressed a hand against his forehead. Sam drew in a quick breath as her cool hand seared against his hot skin. She frowned. "You've a fever. Ever had a chest infection?" 

Sam snorted, turning slightly to look at her, "One or two," he stated casually. "How come you know about chest infections?" 

"I'm a radiographer. I've probably x-rayed more chests than you've had cold beers!" 

Sam coughed again, a little taken aback but enjoying her directness all the same. No doubt that she was related to Devon! He returned just then and Anna sent him back for a glass of iced water for Sam. 

"You need to get to the doctor, Sam, maybe get some antibiotics." 

"Yeah. Mmm. We've been pretty busy this week. So, are you waiting to hear if Simon's been nominated?" 

"He's going to call." She laid her cell-phone on the table between them, and when Devon returned, pushed Sam to drink the iced water. "Bring that temp down before you put any alcohol in there." She frowned at Devon, "You're such a bad influence! This man should be in bed!" 

Devon scoffed innocently, "He was on his way back to the office!" They drank in companionable silence for a couple of minutes until Anna's cell-phone leapt to life with the alien call from Close Encounters! Sam stared at it, startled and as she answered, Devon leaned in, whispering, "She's a sci-fi freak!" Anna squealed with delight and grinned at the two men, nodding, and Devon sat back in his seat with relief, "He got it." 

* 

Warm Springs was a tiny town well-renowned for its polio treatment centre. Sam looked across at Bonnie, 

"FDR died here, you know." 

Bonnie rolled her eyes and concentrated on driving. 

"He founded the polio treatment centre here." 

Silence. 

"There's an FDR State Park just nearby." 

"SAM!" Bonnie yelled. 

"What?" 

"Shut up! You have been shovelling useless facts into me since we left Columbus. In fact, since we sat for twenty long minutes at Atlanta airport. Throughout the entire fifty-one minutes flight to Columbus, and now for the last forty miles on the road. I don't want to know anything else!" 

Sam's eyes widened but he wisely closed his mouth. 

* 

"Mr Geraghty's not here." 

"And that would be because -" 

"He had to take a lame horse to Pine Mountain." 

Sam cocked an eyebrow at Dwayne, "They _did_ know we were coming?" 

"Oh yeah. But there's this lady, Margie, she's leaving today." 

"And?" 

"And they've all gone up to Lightning Creek for a picnic." 

"A picnic?" Sam's eyebrows were doing a dance all by themselves. 

"A farewell picnic. She's moving to Willard County with her husband, Ern. Ern the brickie." 

Bonnie laid a hand on Sam's arm, forestalling his next words, and caught Dwayne's eye, "Could _you_ show us the files please?" 

"Oh, sure." Dwayne tipped his chair flat with a thump and stood up. He headed towards a corridor, "It's a bit dusty back here." He opened a side door and slapped the light switch. File boxes were lined up along tiers of shelves, all neatly labelled in old-fashioned copperplate. As Bonnie peered at the writing, Dwayne nodded, "That's Miss Millicent's hand. She used to be the local schoolteacher. Taught me. She's a little bit odd these days though." 

Sam stared around the room, "So - no-one got the files ready before they went then?" 

"Well, I think they _were_ going to, but there was a lot to do for the picnic and with Mr Geraghty away - " 

"Yeah, yeah. We get it. Okay. We'll see if we can find what we need. If Mr Geraghty gets back, be sure to send him in, right?" 

"Guess so." 

Sam fixed Dwayne with a steely glare, "You GUESS so?" 

"Uh, sure. Absolutely, sir." Dwayne backed out nervously. 

Sam sighed and stared at Bonnie, "Well?" 

"Guess we'd better get on with it." 

Dwayne was right about one thing: the file room was dusty. Each box they peered at was covered in a thin film of dust and after ten minutes Sam felt a prickly tickle start in his throat. He cleared it a couple of times and Bonnie looked up from a line of boxes near the floor, "You okay?" 

"Yeah, just the dust." He cleared his throat again, his eyes watering. "C-can you find any rhyme or reason to the order of these files?" 

"Just what I was going to say. It's not date. You think there _is_ an order?" 

"Writing like this, a former school teacher with a name like Miss Millicent? There has to be an order." He sneezed. "Can't pick it though." He sneezed again. "Let's just focus on finding the dates we need - July to December 1985." 

Another forty minutes and Sam was finding the going tough. They had secured two of the months they required and Bonnie had taken those over to the table in the corner to sift through. Sam had started to cough, the dusty irritation seeping deep into his lungs. He reluctantly blew the dust off another box front and immediately exploded in an uncontrollable coughing fit, Bonnie rising in alarm as he doubled over, gasping for air. 

She fetched him a glass of water. "The dust is really getting to you, isn't it." 

Sam nodded, "It didn't use to bother me but lately - " he fished in his pocket and retrieved his inhaler, taking a puff and trying to hold his breath. Bonnie stood there, watching, her face worried. He took a second puff. Finally he grinned, "It's okay, this should work." He pressed a hand against his ribcage. "I'll be fine. We've got to get on with this." 

"Let's swap jobs then." 

Sam smiled gratefully, "Thanks." 

They worked in silence for another hour before deciding it was time for lunch. They left the files and went out into the main office. There was no sign of Dwayne so they strolled down the road to a local café, admiring the very pretty town centre. Sam was wheezing quietly and Bonnie winced at the sounds of his breathing. 

"Maybe you should stay out of there. You really don't really seem very good." 

"It'll pass, I'm sure. Get me some good coffee and I can fight anything off." By the time they finished lunch, Sam was sounding a little better and they returned reasonably cheerfully to their work. 

There was still no sign of Dwayne so they headed back into the dusty file room. They located two more of the months they required. It hadn't taken long for Sam to start sneezing and coughing again and as they hunted through pages and pages of correspondence, his wheezing increased once more. Bonnie brought him more water to try and ease his symptoms. 

Finally, she straightened, "I think we'll need to do those top rows." 

Sam grimaced up at the boxes on the uppermost shelves. "I knew it. The dust'll be thick as anything up there." 

"I'll do it," Bonnie offered quickly. "Just need a stepladder or something." 

Sam gave her a grateful kiss on the cheek, "Thanks, I really appreciate that." They were both a little worried about the wheezing that whistled in and out of his lungs. 

"D'you wanna wait outside?" 

Sam smiled wryly, "No, I'm okay, honest." He found a rickety ladder in a cupboard in the corridor - still no sign of Dwayne - and Sam steadied the ladder as Bonnie started reading off the labels of the boxes, trying to ignore Sam's irritated coughing. Eventually she looked down, 

"Please go get another drink or use your inhaler again." 

He was returning from the kitchen when Bonnie found the last box they required. Crowing with delight, she grasped it, just as a frightened mouse ran across the lid. Bonnie squealed with surprise and leapt clear of the ladder, box in hand. Sam stared across at her uncomprehendingly, not noticing the teetering ladder. It fell away from Bonnie, directly into Sam, who stumbled under the unexpected impact and crashed into the steel shelving. He collapsed to the floor in a heap. 

Bonnie gasped out loud, "Sam!" and rushed to lift the ladder away. Sam was crumpled on his side, glasses askew, eyes closed. Bonnie knelt down and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Sam? C'mon, Sam? You okay?" 

After an anxious few moments, his eyes fluttered open. "Wha'" he mumbled. 

"Oh, thank God!" breathed Bonnie. "Oh, I'm so sorry. There was a mouse. Gave me a surprise. God, Sam, I think you were knocked out for a minute there." She helped him to sit up slowly. He seemed disoriented. His glasses were quite badly bent and Bonnie gently peeled them off his face, watching his eyes with concern. He looked dazed, his jaw slack. He lifted his hand and patted the side of his head. 

"I think I bumped it on the shelf - " his voice faded as they both stared at his hand. It was covered in blood. "Oh," he said very faintly, and Bonnie felt him flutter under her hands. 

"Oh no." She pressed his head forward to rest on his knees, and leaned over to take a look - there was a gash about two inches long on the side of his head, blood slowly welling up and dripping down onto his white shirt. His breathing was fast and shallow and she rubbed his back, trying not to freak out. "Um, look, I'll go find a first aid kit or something." She dashed into the corridor, "Dwayne!" He was reclining at the desk, reading a comic book as if he'd been there the whole time. "Quick! D'you have a first aid kit?" 

"Why d'you-" 

"Just tell me. _Do you_?" 

"Uh-huh. Well, I dunno, actually. Maybe in the kitchen, I think." 

Bonnie ran, Dwayne following curiously. There was a kit hanging on a hook behind the door. Bonnie grabbed it, pushed past Dwayne and ran back to Sam. He was sitting in the same place but had lifted his head off his knees and pressed his hand against the side of his head. He looked very pale and one side of his white shirt was liberally sprinkled with blood. Bonnie unzipped the case and ripped open a wound dressing. 

"Direct pressure," Sam whispered between quiet wheezes. 

"Good you're thinking clearly. I forgot. Okay, if you move your hand, I'll put this over it and you can hold it, all right?" 

"Sure." He slowly moved his bloodied hand, wincing, and Bonnie pressed the thick dressing over the gash, not wanting to see it again, and Sam held it in place. She looked over her shoulder at Dwayne, who was standing there with his mouth hanging open. 

"Is it far to the medical centre? Can you give us directions?" 

"Yeah, but there'd be no point." 

"Why not, for heaven's sake, he's bleeding!" 

"It's right next door." 

"Oh! Oh, okay then, well, let's go." She levered Sam to his feet, his hand still holding the dressing in place. He was quite shaky and Dwayne instinctively put a hand out to balance him from the other side. They steered Sam out of the stackroom towards the front entrance. At the steps, Sam wavered unsteadily and they eased him down onto the brick paved courtyard, before walking him slowly along to the medical centre. 

Bonnie stopped at the ramp, "Sam, you go on in, I don't want to see that gash on your head again. And I'd better get on with that last box. Ginger booked us back from Atlanta at seven and I think that's about - how far from here, Dwayne?" 

"Hour and a half." 

Sam nodded slightly, "Okay." 

The receptionist looked up in surprise at Dwayne bearing a dark-haired stranger in a blood spattered business shirt and tie, and without taking her eyes off the sight, raised her voice, "Doc Annie?" 

A middle-aged woman appeared out of a back room, "Oh my, what's happened here?" 

"'Afternoon, Doc Annie. This man's down here from the government. D.C." he added importantly. "He had a fall in the stack room." 

Annie looked closely at the unsteady man in front of her, "So, you're from D.C.? You look familiar." 

"Sam Seaborn, ma'am. Deputy Communications Director." 

"Goodness me, so you are. I'm honoured! C'mon in and sit down in the surgery." She took his arm from Dwayne, "What brings you down this way?" 

Sam coughed, "Just collecting - " he coughed again, squinting as the pain intensified in his head, "- some very dusty files from the electoral office." Their eyes met as he wheezed noisily and she put her hand against his chest. 

"Asthma?" 

"It was the dust." 

"You're asthmatic?" 

"Just since last year." He grimaced ruefully, "I used my inhaler." 

"Well, use it again." 

"Now?" 

"Yes. You're wheezing rather noticeably." 

"It was the dust," he commented, digging in his pocket. 

"You said that already." 

"Did I?" He squinted at her, perplexed. 

Annie smiled gently, "I suspect that bump on the head may have shaken your brain around a little." She checked his eyes with her torch then took out her stethoscope. "May I have a listen?" A few moments later she had set Sam up with an oxygen mask and was cleaning his head, "I'll need to stitch this." She raised her voice, "Clare, stop gossiping with Dwayne and come give me a hand here." 

* 

When Bonnie arrived, she found Sam having coffee with the doctor. His hair stuck out unnaturally at the side where Annie had snipped away the hair to stitch up the gash, and his face was chalky white, but he gave her a beautiful grin. She sat down with them and introduced herself to the doctor. Over coffee, Annie gave Bonnie some instructions, 

"He'll need to be watched carefully for the next twenty-four hours. I suspect he has a slight concussion." 

"Is that serious?" 

"Well, yes, but he should be fine. He also needs to increase his asthma meds for a couple of days." Bonnie nodded seriously. Annie turned to Sam, "You're going to have a very sore head for a few days. No physical activity for at least a week." Ignoring his look of horror, she turned back to Bonnie, "Any nausea, vomiting, double vision, get medical attention right away. Is all that quite clear?" They both nodded, and Annie handed Bonnie a bottle with a few pills in it, "Here's some painkillers for the return journey. He can take two every four hours." They all stood up. 

"Thank you, ma'am." 

"Well, good luck, you two, take care on the road." 

* 

Bonnie and Sam sat in the cafeteria at Atlanta airport. She was ravenous, but all Sam could tolerate was a coffee, which he nursed lovingly. After a few minutes, he patted his pockets, frowning, "I've lost my glasses." 

"I've got them. But they're kind of broken, well, bent." 

"Can I see?" 

Bonnie fished them out. One wing hung limply at an odd angle and the lenses were clearly out of alignment. Sam coughed in surprise, "How did that happen? I don't remember." 

"Well, when you fell. You were knocked out for a minute there." 

"Oh." He rubbed at his forehead. 

"Headache?" 

"Yeah," he sighed. She handed him a couple of Annie's painkillers. 

"You look really awful, Sam. I'm so sorry about the ladder and everything. It's going to make the rest of the week so much harder." 

Sam gave her a weak grin, "It was an accident. At least it wasn't my fault this time." 

* * * 

"A _ladder_ fell on you??!?" Toby and Josh were staring at Sam open-mouthed. It had been immediately obvious that this had been a difficult trip. Bonnie had appeared in the Bullpen first, grimy and exhausted, lugging the files they had collected. Sam had followed, pale-faced, his hair still sticking out on one side, and although Bonnie had straightened his tie and helped him into his jacket, there was no hiding the blood all over his collar. 

Sam stared back defiantly at his boss and his partner. "Yes, for the third time, a ladder fell on me. It wasn't my fault and I didn't see it coming because I was staring at Bonnie who had just screamed and jumped to the floor." Bonnie had described the series of incidents that had plagued their day before giving Josh the list of medical instructions and the painkillers. 

"Oh yes," she had added, "Here's his glasses and inhaler, he keeps putting them down." Josh dangled the lopsided spectacles in the air, raising his eyebrows, but Bonnie had groaned, "Don't ask!" She had left soon after, keen to get a shower. 

And now, at nine forty-five, Josh and Toby were left with Sam and the files. Sam flopped down onto Toby's couch as Josh shook his head, "I still can't believe it, I mean, people fall off ladders but ladders don't often fall on people." He snorted in amazement. 

"There was a mouse." 

"You said that already." 

"Did I?" Sam frowned. "You sure?" 

Josh sat beside him, "Bonnie said you're a little shaken up from the accident. Keep repeating things and forgetting things. Maybe you need to go home." 

"What'd I forget?" 

Josh handed him his inhaler and glasses. Sam stared at the bent frames. "Don't know how that happened. Must've been the fall, I guess." 

"You guess?" Toby stared at him. 

"Well, I'm sure," Sam amended hastily. "I can probably straighten them. I have another pair anyway, in my desk drawer." He stood up, wavering slightly, "Whoa! Bit dizzy!" The other two men watched Sam weave his way into his own office. 

Josh looked at Toby, who shrugged. 

"I have to keep him, we need to start going through this stuff tonight. There's a huge pile of work on tomorrow." 

Josh sighed, "Keep a good eye on him then. I'm taking him home _before_ midnight. He looks terrible." 

"Yeah, yeah. Fine." 

Josh went next door and made Sam take some of his asthma medication before heading back to his own office. Sam wandered back into Toby's office and slipped off his shoes. They started to go through the papers, the dust immediately tickling Sam's nose again and he sneezed. "Ow!" His hand went to his head. "That hurts!" 

After half an hour, Toby fetched them both a coffee. Sam sneezed for the tenth time as he returned, close to tears with the pain that ricocheted around his head each time. Toby looked at him carefully, "You want to stop?" 

"Nah." Sam sipped his coffee. "Thanks. I'll be okay." He was still unnaturally pale. They had worked on for another half an hour, not really finding much when Josh arrived. 

"C'mon, Cinderella, bed time." Sam looked up at him and Josh frowned, "You look awful! C'mon, you can do that in the morning." 

"He's right." Toby put his papers aside. "Just leave it all here. Get some rest." 

Sam put his papers down too and pushed himself to his feet. He swayed violently and Josh quickly threw his arms around him, holding him up. He could feel Sam shaking and he tightened his grip. "It's okay, Sam," he soothed, "It's okay." 

Toby was at his side, "What's wrong?" 

Josh stared at him over the top of Sam's head, "I don't know. Help me sit him down again." Sam was trembling violently and Josh knew that if he let go, Sam would collapse. He and Toby lowered Sam back onto the sofa, and Josh pushed Sam's head forward so it rested on his knees, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back. "It's okay," he kept saying quietly. 

Toby was already on the phone, and within a few seconds hung up. "Duty doctor's coming right up. Harris. Might be the same guy we had coming back from Bolivia." 

"He was good." 

"He's going to love it. Sam won't live this down in a hurry." All the same, Toby looked worried. Josh turned his attention back to his partner, 

"Sam? You with us?" Sam muttered something unintelligible. 

"Just wait for the doctor, Josh." Toby sat down and read another piece of correspondence from Warm Springs but he wasn't really concentrating. Josh stared at the painful looking stitches on the side of Sam's head. 

The doctor arrived a few minutes later. Sure enough, it was Perry Harris, the elderly practitioner who had treated Sam so well after he fell ill in Bolivia. Josh, Toby and Perry greeted one another warmly and then they all looked down at Sam's hunched figure. 

"Is that my friend Sam? What's happened this time?" 

Josh explained the situation as Perry knelt down by Sam's head and peered at the stitches. 

"Who did the needlework?" 

"A GP down in Warm Springs. Is it okay?" 

"It's fine. Looks painful though, his head been sore?" 

"The dusty papers've been making him sneeze and that was really hurting him." 

"I was just gonna take him home. He stood up and went all funny." 

Perry put a hand on Sam's shoulder and raised his voice a little, "Sam." Sam slowly lifted his head and looked at Perry with a dazed expression, 

"Huh?" His face was chalky white again. 

"Sam, d'you know where you are?" 

Sam looked around, wincing, "Toby's office." 

"Good. You know who I am?" 

Sam squinted at the doctor and his expression seemed to clear, "Dr Harris, how are you?" 

"I'm good. How are you, Sam?" 

"I - I feel a little dizzy." He rubbed at his temples. "Headache." 

"D'you know why your head hurts, Sam?" Sam ran his tongue over his dry lips and he wrinkled his nose, closing one eye against the ache in his head. 

"Migraine?" he asked hopefully. Josh looked at Perry in alarm, but he was smiling. 

"No, you hurt your head today, in the filing room at Warm Springs. D'you remember that?" 

"Oh - with Bonnie." Sam looked pleased but he began to pant, breathing quickly. Perry gently pushed his head back down onto his knees, 

"Just breathe slowly, Sam. It's all right." 

Josh laid a hand on Sam's back again and rubbed back and forth, while Dr Harris opened his medical bag. He looked at Toby, "He may be ill - d'you have a bucket or trash can handy?" Toby offered his waste bin and Perry set it down beside Sam's feet. He raised his voice again, "Sam? I want you to sit up a little and look at me. Can you do that?" Sam slowly sat up again and gazed blearily at him. "Good man. Now, I want you to follow my finger - just move your eyes." Sam seemed to drag his eyes with a great personal effort to track Perry's travelling finger and it left him breathless again. Perry checked Sam's eyes with his torch, making him wince, and took his pulse. "D'you feel ill, Sam?" 

Sam's voice was barely a whisper, "Not too badly." There were beads of sweat dotted across his forehead. 

"Good." Perry looked at Josh, "You were taking him home?" 

"We were going together." The faintest of blushes brushed across Josh's cheeks. "I knew I had to keep an eye on him." 

"You do. I'm pretty sure this is the after-effect of the knock on the head, he's almost certainly mildly concussed and it sometimes presents itself a little while after the actual accident." 

Toby sat down in one of the armchairs, "Does he need to go to the hospital?" 

"I don't think that's necessary. I've checked his reflexes and general vital signs. I'd say he needs careful watching over the next day or so, but I think he'll be better with rest and time. He's going to have a sore head though, that I can guarantee." 

"He seems confused." 

"He may well be for a little while, until his brain recovers from the shock it's had. Be patient with him." 

"Can he work?" 

"If it's quiet. I wouldn't put him on the podium or anywhere off site for the rest of the week, if that's possible." 

"Of course." 

Perry smiled at Sam, "Let's see you up on your feet then, m'boy. Nice 'n'easy." Sam slowly stood up, helped by Josh, and wavered there, his head clearly hurting. "Now go home with Josh and get some rest." 

"Josh!" Sam's face lit up and he swung around to look at his partner, almost overbalancing in the process. 

"Easy, dude." Josh took a firmer grasp of Sam's upper arm, putting his other arm around Sam's back, as Perry grinned and Toby rolled his eyes. "Let's get your jacket and go home." 

* * * 

Morning brought a heavy thunderstorm. Sam lay in bed in the grey dawn and stared at the window, rain lashing at the glass. Was it only yesterday that he had run happily through the park in the summer sun? He stared miserably at the rain. His head was pounding, even blinking seemed to hurt, and his throat was sore. As he lay there, the events of the previous day slowly filtered back into his consciousness, the trip south with Bonnie, the dusty files, the asthmatic reaction, the ladder, stitches - things seemed a little hazy after that, how did they get back? And did he even talk to Toby? Sam felt sweat prickle his forehead - had he even gone back to the West Wing? He turned to look at Josh, immediately regretting that sudden movement - he was stiff and sore. Josh was still asleep, curled up neatly on his side, facing Sam, as was usual. Contrary to popular belief, Josh was actually the quieter sleeper, and Sam was the wild one, knotting the sheets, turning and twisting and thrashing about. 

Now Sam stared at his lover, hoping he could reassure him about the previous day's events. He reached out and touched Josh's nose gently, running his finger down over Josh's lips. Josh twitched and his eyes flickered open. He opened his mouth and nibbled Sam's finger. Sam withdrew in surprise. 

Josh smiled slowly, "Mornin'! How're you feeling?" 

Sam opened his mouth to speak but there was nothing but a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Head's sore. Throat's sore." His voice was croaky and he swallowed with difficulty. 

"Sore throat? Not surprising after all that coughing. How're the stitches?" 

"Josh, how did we get back?" 

"From work?" 

"No, from Warm Springs!" Sam looked startled. "I don't remember anything after the doctor's surgery." He stared at Josh. 

"You flew back with Bonnie, then you did some work in Toby's office, then when I came to get you, the concussion caught up with you and you nearly passed out on us. Perry Harris came up - remember him from the Bolivia trip?" There was a small silence as Sam processed all of that, and Josh could see a look of relief cross his face. "Why, what had you been thinking?" 

Sam swallowed painfully again, "I'd forgotten," he muttered in a small voice. 

"Sam, you were _concussed_. It's _normal_ to be a little confused." Josh's eyes narrowed, "You're all right now?" He held up three fingers, "How many?"

Sam stared, "Two?" he ventured tentatively. 

"Oh God!" Josh sat up in panic. 

Sam grinned, "Just kidding. Three! I saw three! No, don't hurt me!" he screeched as Josh went to grab him, "I can't even get my head off the pillow yet." 

Josh stopped, "Why not?" 

Sam shrugged, "Stiff, I guess." And stiff he was. It took him much longer to get up, get showered while keeping one side of his head dry, and dressed, his head aching and thumping, the stiffness running right down from stitches to shoulder. Josh drove them to work and they only arrived just in time for Senior Staff. 

"You're late," Leo grouched, but his voice trailed away at the sight of Sam, whose immaculate navy suit and white shirt could not disguise the paleness of his features, the stiffness of his movements and the odd hedgehog-like patch of hair around the stitches. "Sam. Feeling better?" 

"Yes, thanks, Leo." In contrast to his words, Sam very slowly lowered himself down onto the sofa beside CJ, wincing silently, and CJ took his hand. 

"Hey, Spanky, feeling a little sore there? Show me the stitches." Sam obligingly inclined his head towards her and she peered at his head, "Oh dear, Sam, these look awfully sore." 

Toby uncrossed his legs, "Sam, your head all right to work today?" 

"Sure." 

Josh dropped into a chair, "We're late because he was a little stiff and confused this morning, but I think we've got the head clear now." He ignored Sam's frown and carried on, looking at Toby, "Couldn't recall last night's events at first. Don't get him to do anything you can't check first." 

"Josh \- " 

"Sensible precaution, Sam. Would _you_ trust you right now?" 

Sam folded his arms and stared at his lap, "Probably not," he mumbled. 

Toby rubbed his temple vigorously, "He's just going through all those papers he brought up yesterday. I've cancelled the rest of his appointments." 

"You have?" Sam looked at him in surprise. 

"Based on last night's performance, yes. Collapsing in Josh's arms. I really didn't want a repeat of that today." 

"Good idea, Toby." Leo rustled his papers, "Let me fill you all in on what's happening in Mexico right now..." 

* * * 

Mid way through the morning and Sam was lost in another world, the eighties, and a seemingly bitter round of correspondence between the then sheriff, Warner, and the CIA man, Lucas Rove. The letters had begun as innocuous enquiries but had quickly deteriorated into more pointed although still veiled accusations and denials. Sam was surprised at the way all of this correspondence had been saved, considering how personal and damning it appeared to be. He wondered if Warner was keeping it as some sort of defence, in case his affair with Tessa Rove ever became public, as a tool against the intimidating and downright threatening Lucas. Sam stopped reading for a minute and polished his glasses. They were the same as his other ones but just seemed to be bothering him. His head felt tight, as if a band had been wrapped around it and twisted firmly. The site of the stitches was raw, and his throat still ached. He sighed. No time to rest right now. 

Sam was surprised when he opened an envelope taped to the back of one of Rove's legal documents. It was heavy and contained several pale green letters. Curious, Sam smoothed them out and began to read. His mouth dropped open - they were love letters, from Tessa to James. _Darling Jamie_ , they began, with little hearts over the i's. Sam felt intrusive, but then recalled this woman had gone missing a long time ago. She was probably dead. He read through the pile of letters. Tessa Rove was clearly wishing to leave her husband and set up house with James Warner. The tone of her letters changed though, as Sam read through correspondence covering several months. Desire and enthusiasm were replaced by panic and despair. Warner had obviously discouraged this forward move, probably thinking of his career as well as the power that could be wielded by Lucas Rove, and must have pleaded with her to be patient. _I can't wait any longer_ , she had written in late November. 

Sam needed the police reports from his desk. He felt like he was putting together a jigsaw puzzle here, and he wondered why letters like these were not part of a police investigation into Tessa's disappearance. He put the papers aside and swung his legs around. He was really stiff now, and found it awfully painful to stand up. Rising slowly, his head seemed to spin and dive in a loop and he sat back down in defeat. He rested his head on his knees, ignoring the pull of sore muscles, and tried to breathe through the flickering lights and sudden nausea. 

Ginger appeared at his side, "Sam?" Her warm hand rested on his back, "You feel sick?" 

He nodded into his knees and she glanced around. Toby's trash can was still there, under the coffee table. She pulled it out and rested it by Sam's foot. "There's a bin here, if you really feel ill." Sam nodded again. "Why don't you take a break, get some rest." 

"Can you get something for me?" he spoke into his knees. 

"Sure. What d'you need?" 

"The Police report from Atlanta, on the disappearance of Tessa Rove. It's on my desk." 

Ginger fetched the report and returned to find Sam hadn't moved. "D'you want to sit up again?" 

His head moved from side to side, "Not yet." He let the air hiss in and out of clenched teeth, then slowly lifted his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Ginger's hand was reassuring on his back and he sat up. He opened one eye but closed it quickly again as stars flickered around his peripheral vision, and he groaned. 

"Feeling bad?" 

"Uh-huh." 

Ginger moved a few papers, "Why don't you just lie down for a few minutes?" Too uncomfortable to argue, Sam let her ease him down on the sofa and he lay still, willing his churning stomach and thumping head to be calm. Ginger stood there, hands on hips, staring down at him. She was interrupted by a gentle knock at the open door. 

"Hi Ginger. I heard there was someone in here with a sore head." 

"Good morning, Dr Bartlet. He's not feeling too good right now. He went to stand up and got all dizzy." 

Abby slipped into the room and sat down on the edge of the couch next to Sam's still form. Her hand rested on his forehead, and her voice was quiet, "Hey, Sam, anything I can do to help?" 

He groaned miserably. "My head is spinning." 

"Just lie still then, kiddo." 

"I've got work to do." 

"Your head is more important. Just let it rest for a few minutes. Then you can think about sitting up again." Abby looked up at Ginger, "Would you mind bringing us some coffee? That might help him to feel a little better." 

"Sure." 

Once Ginger had brought coffee, Abby smoothed her hand over Sam's forehead again, "Want to try sitting up now?" 

Sam's eyes had been open a crack and he nodded at her, "Okay." With her hand behind his shoulder, Sam managed to sit up, gritting his teeth. To his relief the world had settled down and he was able to open his eyes properly. "Morning, Dr Bartlet. Sorry to bother you." 

She handed him a coffee and sat back in an armchair with the other cup. "Just sip it slowly. It may actually help you with the nausea. I hear you had an interesting trip to Georgia yesterday." 

"Yes, ma'am, I guess you could call it that." 

"I promised Perry Harris I'd pop in and take a look at you - he was concerned about you last night, and I spoke to him this morning. He's rather a fan of yours, I suspect. You certainly won him over on that trip back from South America." 

"Don't know how, I was sick as a dog. Throwing up left, right and centre. Way to make an impression." He sipped his coffee, "Can't have appeared much better last night. I can hardly remember it." Sam rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. 

"Your head's pretty sore?" 

"It's okay." 

"Somehow, Sam Seaborn, I don't believe you." She watched him grimace over his coffee, "Throat sore too?" 

He nodded sadly. Abby put down her coffee, "May I take a look at the stitches?" Sam turned his head obligingly and Abby peered at his head. "Goodness, eight - nine - _ten_ stitches? That must have been some knock on the head." 

"It was certainly unexpected. We were just looking for files." 

"Well," Abby finished her coffee, "I need to move on. Keep those stitches dry, and take some pain relief - what're you taking right now?" 

Sam frowned, "Um, something the doctor gave Bonnie, but that was when I got up. I guess I should take some more now?" He dug in his pocket and removed the small bottle of pills. Abby took it off him and read the label, then handed him two, which he swallowed with his coffee. 

She stood up, "You really ought to be in bed. D'you have to be doing this work now?" 

Sam sighed, "I sure do. It's for a meeting tomorrow." 

"I'll be back to check later, and you'd better be resting or home in bed by then." Sam grinned nervously. "I mean it, kiddo. You need to take care of that head." 

Sam blushed, "Yes, ma'am." 

After Abby's departure, he read through the police report and tried to match up the investigation with any of the correspondence, but it didn't appear that either of the two men had been stupid enough to commit anything damning to paper. Tessa had gone missing in late November, and there were only a few pieces of correspondence between the two men in December, mostly cold condolences from Warner and terse replies from Rove. The only odd thing in the November correspondence was a series of enquiries from Warner as to the timing of a grounds job at the electoral centre by someone called Ern. The name rang a bell with Sam but he couldn't put his finger on it. 

He peered out into the Bullpen, but Bonnie must have gone to lunch early or something. He went back to his reading, finding copies of a few other unusual letters from Warner to various people, giving Sam the impression that here was a major bully in a small town. He wondered what the people of the time thought of their sheriff. There wasn't really anything substantial to use against him though and Sam was a little disappointed, as he knew Bartlet didn't want to endorse Warner's promotion. There was a much better candidate in Simon Casey, and Sam knew he was the better candidate, although less qualified for the position. It was common knowledge that Bartlet was more likely to lean towards Casey if possible. 

Bonnie arrived back shortly after that and he wandered out into the Bullpen. She smiled at him, 

"How're you going? Ginger said you were pretty unwell before. Get you some lunch now?" 

"When's Toby back?" 

"About two, I believe." 

"Bonnie \- " 

"What d'you need?" 

"Who's Ern?" 

"Pardon?" 

"Ern. We were in Warm Springs yesterday and someone mentioned Ern. Who was it? I can't think too clearly about yesterday right now." 

"Um, let's see... Dwayne, Clare, Mr Geraghty, the woman who was leaving - Madge, no, Marge, Margie! That was it. And her husband ERN! That was it, Margie's husband Ern the brickie." 

"Ern the what?" 

"Remember, Dwayne said it, Ern the brickie, and you were going to explode so I stopped him and asked him to show us the files." 

"Brickie... oh.... " Sam felt blindly for one of the office chairs and sat down heavily. "No. Surely that's ridiculous." 

Bonnie was staring at him, her head on one side, "You feeling all right, Sam?" 

"But he WAS the sheriff - " Sam stared into the middle distance. "Wouldn't Rove have brought in all the bigwigs to help out? Unless he didn't care either..." Sam rubbed his forehead again, and looked up at Bonnie, who was staring at him with frank concern. She took a tentative step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder, 

"Sam?" she asked very quietly. 

Sam looked up at her quizzically, "Huh?" 

"You all right?" 

"Yeah, sorry." Sam shook himself visibly. "Just a stupid thought went through my head for a moment." He stood up and went back into Toby's office, changing tack. He started going through the financial records of the time, matching up invoices and statements, checking taxation details and investments Warner seemed to have made on behalf of the electoral office. There seemed to be a considerable amount of money passing through the tiny centre of Warm Springs, and a lot of it seemed to be disappearing between receipt and bank, and Sam was beginning to feel a little uneasy about that. 

It came to him about half an hour later, as he sifted through a series of letters involving a transaction that was only referenced by a number. Sam took the notes into his own office and started making calls. Toby arrived back, surprised and somewhat relieved to find Sam upright and deep in conversation with someone in Spanish. Sam had tracked the reference number through a real estate agency in Columbus, not Atlanta, surprisingly, and had made a number of calls before he reached an answer, and that answer lay in Mexico. He had to do several searches until he reached exactly what he was looking for. 

Sam stood up carefully, picking up his notes, and eased himself into Toby's office. He leaned on the door-jamb. "How important is this appointment of Warner's really?" His voice was quite croaky. "I mean, I know it's important, but if it was thought that this guy really did something immoral or possibly illegal or even criminal fifteen years ago or more, how important would you say that was in terms of his being appointed to a position of legal high standing?" 

Toby stared at Sam calculatingly, and rubbed fiercely at his temple, "How important is it to you, based on what you obviously have rattling around in that head of yours?" 

Sam stared back at him unblinkingly, "Terribly important." 

"What d'you need?" 

"I have an address - in Mexico." 

"Mexico?" 

"Mexico. It's really a dead end, but it's part of a bigger plot." He suddenly imitated Leo's voice, "A big stinking heap of something!" He stepped forward as he said this and stumbled slightly. 

Toby's eyes widened with alarm, "You'd better sit down." Sam sat down and leaned back against the sofa cushions, taking off his glasses and closing his eyes. Toby watched Sam carefully. His Deputy was still uncomfortably pale and he stared at the patch of spiky hair around the stitches. _How does he do it_ , he mused. There's one in every family, apparently, and he figured they were as much a family as any right now. He drummed his fingers on the desk. 

"Want to run it past me?" 

Sam ran his hands over his face wearily. "Yeah," he sighed. "It's not very pleasant. And I could have it all wrong." 

"Spit it out." 

Sam breathed a long hiss of air out of his nose, then replaced his glasses, squinting painfully as he glanced at the copious notes he had made on a legal pad. "It looks like Warner was filtering cash from the electoral office into an account he set up in New Orleans. He was certainly deeply involved with Tessa Rove, as you know." Sam looked up at Toby over the rims of his glasses and Toby felt somewhat concerned at the weary look on his face. Sam cleared his throat painfully and continued, "She was getting desperate to leave Rove and move in with Warner. Believe it or not, he kept correspondence from her on file!" Sam snorted softly. "It looks like Warner convinced Tessa that they could have a dream home in Mexico. I suspect he showed her plans that he was buying a hacienda down there so they could 'make their escape', so to speak. They even went down there, probably not travelling together, to make the purchase. He was going to settle her in, returning to Warm Springs to cover their tracks, wishing to appear unaware of her disappearance. The promise was that once things settled down, he would join her and they'd live happily ever after." Sam sighed and stared at Toby, "He never got there." 

"You're kidding! She sat down there waiting for him and he never arrived?" 

"Well, nooo, because she never got there either." He cleared his throat again. 

"So where is she now?" 

Sam stared at Toby through his glasses, his eyes confused, "Well- " he took a breath, "I think she may be dead. Murdered. " 

Toby stared at Sam for a full minute then swung around, staring at the silent C-Span on the screen. He ran a hand over his head then massaged his forehead. "You want to add to that?" 

"I think Warner killed her and I don't know if Rove was in on the act or if he thought she really did flee to Mexico." He held up a hand, "I know it's ridiculous but... Warner was the sheriff at the time, Rove a CIA investigator, couldn't they have easily perpetuated a cover-up?" 

"So _what is_ in Mexico?" 

"A real address, but the absentee American owners never lived there." 

"Murder! Good God! That crack on the head has really addled your brain. What do you have for the President that isn't wild supposition?" 

Sam frowned, hurt, "I'll get Ginger to sort out a document on the financial discrepancies, then we'll put it all together before the end of the day." He blew out his cheeks tiredly. 

"I can't see you lasting the distance right now." 

Sam shrugged wearily, "Gotta do it." 

Sam spent ten minutes showing Ginger what he needed her to do, then he went back to the telephone, and there were countless discussions in Spanish wafting out of his office over the next hour. Finally things seemed to quieten down and when Toby peered in through the window, Sam was on the phone but had swivelled his chair around to stare outside. 

* 

"Sam?" 

A gentle voice and a familiar hand on the back of his neck. Sam shuddered. A hand caressed his head, smoothing the hair near the line of stitches, clearing his forehead. 

Sam rubbed at his eyes as Josh leaned against the desk, right beside him. 

"Sorry." He had no voice left now, just a dry croak. He swallowed painfully over the huge lump that had seemingly blocked his throat. "Just tired." 

"You were on the phone." 

"The lover of Warner - he planned to abandon her in Mexico and she couldn't come back, she'd burnt her bridges leaving her husband, clearing out their joint accounts, taking valuables - " Sam shuddered. Josh knew that Sam was tired and unwell and suddenly realised that he was feeling the depth of this woman's betrayal because of his own struggles with the betrayal of the father he loved so deeply. Even now, he knew Sam still ached irrationally for things to be back the way they used to be. 

Sam's eyes were red-rimmed and he looked exhausted, 

"Sorry," he whispered. 

"Don't be sorry. It's all right to feel this woman's pain. It doesn't make you wrong in any way." 

"Wow," he croaked, "You _have_ been listening in therapy class after all." 

"Shut up." Josh leaned down and pulled Sam towards him and they embraced gently. "You're really tired. And hey! You've lost your voice. This could be a blessing. Imagine it, a quiet weekend at home with you unable to say a word!" 

Sam cuffed him. "I need to finish this paper." 

"You okay then?" 

"How come you got in here anyway?" 

"Toby panicked. Thought he'd have to share a caring moment with you." 

Sam blushed slightly, "Oh God. He was watching me?" 

"He was worried. _About_ you." 

Sam tried in vain to clear his voice, "I'd better get on with this report." 

"I'll drive you home any time you're ready." Josh gave Sam another quick hug, and was about to leave when Charlie appeared in the doorway. 

"Can you guys come with me to the Oval? The President wants the Senior Staff for a photo thing with the Mexican Advisory Councillors." _Mexico?_ Sam snorted derisively. 

They followed him at once, Sam straightening his tie and rubbing his eyes. He nudged Josh, "Do I look all right? I mean, I can hardly talk." 

"You look - " Josh eyed him as they headed down the corridor behind Charlie, "kind of worn out. But you still look good enough to eat so don't sweat it!" He raised his voice to Charlie, "Where's Toby?" 

"Oh, I nabbed him already, dragged him in there kicking and screaming." 

"Toby kicked and screamed? Doesn't sound possible, well, not the screaming." 

"We-ell, he growled like a wounded bear and threatened me with enormous retribution, something along the lines of what he would do with my tie after he had ripped out my throat." 

"Now THAT sounds more like Toby." 

"Actually, it was his suggestion that I go find you, Josh." 

"Damn him!" They slowed at the doorway to the Oval Office and slipped in quietly. There was quite a party atmosphere, a crowd of Mexicans, everyone apparently wearing sombreros for the photos and a woman approached Josh and Sam and pulled them into the crowd, handing them a drink. Sam was immediately surrounded by Spanish speaking men who were pleased to have someone there who spoke their own language, and despite his croaky voice, he was soon sharing jokes with the men from the South. A woman slapped a wide-brimmed blue hat on Josh's head and as Sam was staring across the room at Josh with a wide smirk, someone else pushed a red straw monstrosity onto his own head. He felt a sharp pain above his ear and gasped, but he was swamped by the group of men ready for the photographs who threw their arms around his shoulders. They gathered around the President and Mrs Bartlet, who had also come in for the pictures, and the whole group called out 'Cheese' and 'Burritos' amidst laughter and hilarity. Reeling dizzily, Sam smiled dutifully, his eyes watering with the sudden throb at the side of his head, and he was grateful for the people packed around him as they unwittingly helped him to stay upright. 

After several photographs, the group broke apart again, and Sam leaned against the arm of a sofa, feeling sweaty and nauseated. Firm hands unexpectedly closed around each of his arms and a voice murmured in his ear, "Come with us, Sam." Slightly dazed, Sam let himself be led out of the Oval Office and into Leo's room. He stumbled across the carpet, relieved as the door closed behind them, and found himself being lowered onto Leo's sofa. He was panting, and barely registered his saviours. 

"He's helluva pale, Abby." 

"Lift that stupid hat off and we'll take a look at him." 

Sam felt the rough straw hat lift and he cried out with the stinging pain, a warm and yet icy feeling cooling one side of his head. "Aw, sheesh, Abby, he's bleeding all over the place." It was Leo's voice. "That hat - the stitches have come undone!" Sam tried to register what he had said, and the image intensified his sense of dizziness. His head seemed to have come loose from his body and he could feel his eyes moving uncontrollably. He slid sideways into Leo and passed out. 

Leo looked up at Abby, his arms holding onto a limp Deputy Communications Director. "Well, this is just dandy. Wake him up, will ya?" 

"Just let me get something to put over that head wound. D'you have towels in that bathroom?" 

Leo looked down at Sam strewn across his lap, and patted him absently, concerned at the pallid profile, the thick eyelashes dark against white cheeks. _Poor kid_ , he thought, _seems to get into everything, always one in every family..._ Sam stirred slightly, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows, a faint groan croaking out from somewhere deep inside, and Leo rubbed Sam's shoulder more firmly, "It's okay, Sam, just lie still." Abby returned with a thick wad of towel, which she gently pressed over Sam's head and he flinched, inhaling sharply. Leo held him, making un-Leo-like soothing noises as Abby knelt down and mopped up the blood that had oozed and trickled down over Sam's ear and into his collar. She had a plastic bin too, 

"He might be sick when he comes round fully." 

"Oh great. This suit just came back from the cleaners." 

"You're doing a good job, Leo. Ooh, I think he's waking up - " Abby sat back on her heels and watched Sam as his eyes blinked open unevenly, slowly revealing hazy blue life savers, the black pupils dancing with confusion. She smiled at him warmly, "Hey, Sam. You awake now, kiddo?" 

Sam blinked some more, trying to lift his head to see her better. A strong arm levered him up from behind and Sam turned slightly to see Leo a lot closer than he was used to, and he ran a nervous tongue over dry lips. 

"Huh!" he croaked confusedly. His head ached fiercely and he squinted at the two people with him. Leo and Abby. What was going on? His eyes widened with panic. "Wha'?" He couldn't seem to muster any vocabulary at all. 

Abby took pity on him, sensing his confusion, "Hey, Sam, you had a sombrero on and it seems to have damaged the stitches in your head. Does your head hurt much?" 

Sam flicked a painful glance at Leo then looked back at Abby, "A little, yes, ma'am." 

Leo still had a firm arm around Sam's back. "I'd say he hurts a lot, Abby, Sam's a great one for the understatement and he's shaking like a leaf." 

Abby reached out and laid a hand on Sam's knee, "You're right." She smiled reassuringly at the man in front of her, "I think your head is still repairable. D'you want me to do it or would you rather we take you to the ER? A few steri-strips might be enough to pull those stitches back into line." 

"Aren't you busy, ma'am?" Sam's scratchy voice was unreadable. 

"Actually, no, I'm not. A function was cancelled for this evening and I'm having a quiet dinner in the Residence, hopefully with my husband." She stood up and lifted the towel off his head. "The bleeding has pretty much stopped again. So, how about it? We can just go to one of the large bathrooms in the Residence and have you fixed up in a jiffy." 

Sam had recovered his wits and did some quick thinking. He hadn't finished his paper for the President yet, and three hours or more sitting in the ER waiting area didn't hold any appeal at all. He swung round carefully and focused on Leo, who seemed to have been thinking the same thing. 

"At least there's no queue here, son." Sam nodded in acquiescence and Leo helped him to stand up. "Come in!" he called at an urgent knock. 

Josh stood there, mouth open. "Sam! What happened?" 

Sam was wavering slightly in Leo's firm grasp and Abby moved closer to Josh, "It's fine, Joshua, Sam just had a wee problem with the sombrero that was mashed into his head. I'm going to take him over to the Residence and clean him up." 

Josh caught Sam's faint nod and he closed his mouth. "Okay. Uh, Sam, call me when you're done, okay?" 

"You got that HR paper done?" 

Josh frowned at Leo, "Well, if I didn't have to be partying with crazed Mexicans, I could say yes but - " 

"Go finish it. Sam'll be fine." Leo didn't mention that Sam was trembling violently and he quickly steered Sam past Josh and towards the nearest exit to the Residence, Abby following. Sam was compliant in his grasp and Leo felt an unwelcome pang of tenderness for the younger man. Sam slowed as they passed a particularly nice bed of spring pansies and put a hand over his mouth. 

"You feel sick?" A panicky nod. Leo aimed Sam for the flowerbed and Sam fell to his knees, vomiting neatly between the clusters of deep purple flowers, shoulders heaving. Leo and Abby looked at one another and Leo grinned, "Nice day yesterday. Seemed like summer was just around the corner." 

"Well, it's a little clearer than it was this morning." Abby bent down as Sam lifted his head, "Finished, honey?" She sounded very tender and even Leo was taken aback at her tone. He figured she couldn't have been a successful doctor without knowing when to really show some care and compassion. They helped Sam up again and carried on towards the Residence. 

* * * 

It was nearly an hour later that Sam reappeared in the Bullpen, wearing a slightly baggy forest green sweater over his blood-spattered shirt. He had shivered endlessly up in the Residence despite the heat lamps in the bathroom and finally Abby had produced the sweater from a cupboard in one of the bedrooms. His head throbbed with a dull drum-beat, slowed by painkillers that left him feeling a little foggy but able to function for a while at least. Ginger and Bonnie both jumped up to greet him and admire Abby's neat handiwork on his head, and, after a few minutes, Toby emerged from his office to check out his Deputy. 

He was pleased to see Sam looking a little brighter, "You'd better work in my office where I can keep an eye on you." He turned and Sam followed him back in. 

"Hey, I never asked for a sombrero - I didn't even see it coming." His voice was still croaky. 

"What _do_ you see coming? Not crazed Mexicans with hats, not ladders falling on you, d'you have any visual observation skills at all?" Toby sat down heavily at his desk. "No, don't answer that," he forestalled Sam's open mouth. "Just get your work and sit there until Josh comes and releases you." 

"Oh, I was meant to call him - " 

"He had to go up to the Hill. Rountree was making a fuss." 

"How did anyone ever vote for him? He's revolting." 

"He's a major pain in the ass. Josh was furious." Toby gave Sam an evaluating gaze, "How are you feeling really? Josh said you were pretty white in Leo's office. He was freaked." 

Sam leaned against the bookcase, "I got amazingly dizzy in there, hardly knew what I was doing, then Dr Bartlet told Leo to take the hat off and it had disturbed the stitches and there was a lot of blood - " Sam held the back of his hand against his forehead for a moment. He sighed, "Then I passed out right in Leo's lap! I don't think I'll live _that_ down in a hurry. But Dr Bartlet has patched me up pretty well, I think. Wanna have a look?" 

"Absolutely not. Shut up and go get the work." 

"You really want me to shut up?" Sam threw him a wounded look. 

"You sound like an elderly bullfrog. Did Abby take a look down your throat by any chance?" 

"Yeah. She thought it was probably damage from the dust irritation yesterday." He wrinkled his nose, "I'm supposed to gargle something soothing." 

"Like whiskey?" 

"Not such a bad idea," he frowned. "Bourbon maybe?" he added brightly. 

"When you've finished here, I'll buy you a drink personally." 

"You're on!" Sam fetched his work and began to compile a report for the President. 

* * * 

Josh peered around the Bullpen, "Where the hell are they?" 

"They're on their way back now. Toby just called." 

"Back from where?" 

"A bar, I think." 

"A bar?! Aw, c'mon, Bonnie, where'd they really go?" 

"I'm not kidding. Toby promised Sam a bourbon if he finished the Warner report to his satisfaction. And he did." 

At that poignant moment, Josh still coming to grips with Bonnie's words, Toby and Sam arrived back in the Bullpen, grinning happily. Josh stared at his partner, a slow smile spreading across his own face. Sam's cheeks had a rosy glow, and although his hair stood on end, he looked delicious. He was still wearing the forest green sweater and it really complemented his dark hair and blue eyes. They were tired blue eyes though. Sam looked thoroughly exhausted. Josh narrowed his own eyes, his grin fading, 

"He's been on asthma meds and painkillers and you take him out drinking?" 

"Gargling, Josh. I took him out gargling." Toby had lost his grin and he swept past Josh into his office. Josh swung round to look more closely at Sam. 

"Whaddya mean, gargling?" 

Sam smiled reminiscently. He had chosen a quiet booth and Toby had ordered Sam a bourbon, and a whiskey for himself. Conscious of how many drugs were already floating around Sam's system, Toby encouraged the spitting and brought Sam a small bowl for that purpose. Each time Toby had sipped his drink, Sam had gargled a small slurp of his own drink, spitting most of it back out, letting a slight trickle slide welcomingly down his scratchy throat. 

Ignoring glances from the smattering of patrons in the bar, they had had seconds before returning to the West Wing. Sam was light-headed from the whiff of alcohol in his beleaguered system, and he was very relaxed. He crossed the Bullpen and stood right in front of Josh, his eyes closing slightly. "Hey." 

"Hey, you. I think it might be time I took you home." 

"My work here is done." 

"Good. Get your coat and get ready and I'll meet you back here shortly." 

When Josh returned, he found Sam at his desk, flicking through his messages. He had his relief inhaler clutched in one hand. 

"What happened?" 

"Nothing." Sam laid the palm of his hand flat against his chest, "Just felt a bit tight, that's all. Probably the smoke in the bar." 

Josh could hear the wheeze clicking after Sam's out-breaths and felt more concerned than usual. "That came on awfully fast, didn't it?" Sam shrugged. "But your other attack was only yesterday - " 

"Mmm." 

"And Tim said if you had two in two days - " 

"- I had to go in, yeah, I remember." Sam's croaky voice still betrayed his irritation with that idea. "This could be nothing." His phone rang, and after a quick few words he hung up, "Leo wants you." 

"Don't move." 

Sam smiled to himself as Josh disappeared out the door. He felt so lucky to have Josh for his own. Josh was not always easy to live with. He worked long, long exhausting hours, he was untidy and didn't care about things like laundry and dishes, he could be bitingly cruel if pushed to the limit, but he could also be wonderfully warm and caring. He had his vulnerable side and Sam had been through quite a few extraordinary moments helping Josh with his demons. Josh was brilliant and Sam loved Josh's mind as much as he loved his body. 

And - Sam tried another puff of the inhaler as his chest tightened more and his breath shortened -he, Sam, had been so unwell on and off the last twelve months, and Josh had never complained about that. He had learnt in his academic way how to handle Sam's asthma, and had taken on a role of monitor, nagging Sam about medication and exercise, making sure he kept on top of things at work, because Sam too worked long hours and they often dragged off their suits, lay down and instantly fell asleep in one another's arms. 

Josh was the one to shake Sam awake in the morning, forcibly drag him out of bed and make him go out for a run, hoping that the fitter he remained, the healthier he would be. And they had been doing rather well. 

Sam stood up, frustrated. His exhalations felt like he was trying to blow into an already-inflated balloon, as if there was nowhere for the air to go. The air just couldn't get out, and he screwed up his face as each difficult in-breath seemed to add to the air already trapped and whistling in his lungs. He pulled on his jacket and walked carefully into Toby's office. 

"Can you - " he paused, "c-call - call - Josh, 'swith Leo." 

Toby stood up quickly and came around the desk, "What's wrong?" 

Sam cleared his throat, and the wheeze was suddenly loud and unmistakeable in the quiet room. "Came on - fast." Sam shrugged. 

"You want to sit down?" Sam shook his head. "You need to get to the ER?" Sam shrugged again then nodded miserably. Toby tried to call Josh but Margaret said they were in the middle of a phone-conference and didn't want to be disturbed. He grabbed his coat, "I'll take you." 

"You sure?" 

"Am I not walking out the door right now? Ginger!" 

* * * 

The hospital was surprisingly quiet for a Thursday night. The ride over from the West Wing had been somewhat tense, Sam's breathing quite laboured, his hands clenched tightly against his thighs, knuckles shining white. Now and then he would press his hand to his chest and try to find some way of releasing the tension there. Toby watched him out of the corner of his eye, hands clutching the steering wheel, his whole body alert to the suffering of his Deputy. 

As they neared GW, Sam looked at Toby, "Don't go straight to ER, contact the chest ward. Respiratory. Tim." He coughed, an explosive, stunted, wheezy cough that made Toby wince. 

"Tim Woods told you to do that?" 

"Gotta \- gotta card." Sam fumbled for his wallet, "C-card here." He grasped a cream-coloured card. "Show - to Reception." 

"ER reception?" 

"Uh-huh." Sam leaned back, that brief conversation having used up his resources. His breaths were getting shallower and he was in pain, his whole chest aching fiercely. As they pulled into the car park, he looked at Toby again, "Sorry." 

"Don't be. It's not your fault." 

"Jus' so frustrated." 

He slowed as they neared the entrance, shaking his head from side to side. Toby stopped. 

"What?" 

"Can't." 

"You can't what?" 

"Can't, Toby. Not again." 

"You really don't have a choice." 

"Wish there was another way." 

"Sam - " 

"I - I hate staying." 

"Maybe you won't have to." 

"Jus' wanna go home." Toby gazed at his forlorn Deputy. He knew Sam was slurring his words because of the lack of good oxygen flow, and he knew Sam was very tired. And he knew Sam hated sleeping on the ward but Toby also knew that this attack had come on rapidly and that Sam was in a certain amount of distress. Suppressing a desire to roll his eyes, Toby put his hands on Sam's shoulders, 

"We're going in, get what you need, leave when you're better. If you have to stay, well, you have to stay. We don't think any less of you for needing help and frankly, the way you sound right now - can we just get on with it?" 

Sam passed a hand over his eyes, "Yeah," he whispered. Toby took his arm again and they moved into the brightly lit foyer. 

* * * 

Dr Tim Woods pocketed his stethoscope and took out his favourite pen, a matt bronze one from his brother's Homeland Security Conference. Taking the chart, he filled in the time of death and signed it. The nurse drew the covers up under the patient's chin, disconnecting the nasal cannula as Tim lowered the bed to let the body lie flat. 

He locked eyes with the nurse, and he was sure his eyes mirrored her sorrow. This had been a delightful patient, a young woman who had won all their hearts as she knitted endless multi-coloured scarves despite her failing lungs. He shrugged sadly and left the nurse, Carmel, to organise the undertaker and contact the family. 

Tim slumped onto a sofa in the Doctors' Lounge, sipping disconsolately at a coffee. A young resident, Nathan, bustled in waving a greeting and making himself a drink as he spoke excitedly, 

"This single cell lung cancer, the research is through and it's been exclusive, I mean truly exclusively diagnosed in smokers. No-one else. There's such an undeniable link. What fuel it gives us - " he stopped as he noticed Tim's demeanour, "What's happened?" 

"Mandy Torrence just died." 

"Aw, she was a really good kid. Knitted matching scarves for me and Cherie." There was a moment's silence as they both stared into their cups, then Nathan looked carefully at Tim, "You okay?" 

Tim sighed, "Sure, sure. Just a shame, that's all. She never responded to a single treatment. Always hoped I'd find something - " His pager bleeped loudly. "Damn, have to go down to the ER." He swallowed his coffee and stood up. 

Nathan looked up at him, "Sorry about Mandy." 

"Yeah." Tim smiled wistfully, "Thanks, Nate." 

* 

The ER was fairly quiet. Tim was directed to a gurney across the room and he recognised Sam right away. Damn, he muttered to himself. Sam was sitting on the side of a gurney, pale and tense, his shoulders rising and falling with the struggle to breathe. He looked up just then and his face lit up a little, 

"Hey! Toby jus' left. Had to go back." He was breathless, and hard on the heels of Mandy's death, Tim felt inexplicably irritated, 

"Why're you here?" he barked. 

Sam's eyes widened, "I - you said - two attacks in two days - come in..." 

"Are you taking all the preventative medication?" 

"Said \- you - could cut back." 

"Not if you're not well." 

"Was. It was the dust in - " 

"Why were you in dust?" 

"Work, had to find files - " 

"You look exhausted." 

"Hard work. Georgia." He coughed horribly. "Was just the dust." 

"I don't give a damn! If you're not going to take care of yourself, I mean, you look shattered. You look like crap. Well, stuff it." His voice rose. "I'm not treating you, you're irresponsible. The ER can deal with you tonight!" He swung on his heel and stormed over to the desk and a moment later, without a backward glance, was gone. 

Sam sat there, stunned and frightened - Tim wasn't going to treat him? He felt his breathing flutter with panic and he started to cough wheezily without stopping. He slid off the gurney, hunching over on the cool floor. A nurse hurried over and put an arm around him, 

"Sam? Is that right? C'mon, don't be scared. We'll get this breathing sorted." She helped him back onto the bed, placing an oxygen mask over his face, and waited for him to relax a little before fetching a nebuliser and starting to hook him up. 

"My name's Tina. It _is_ Sam, right? And you've used one of these before? Good. Thing is, you need to relax." Sam nodded mutely, watching her recording his vital signs and connecting tubes and mask. He blinked at her over the mask, a whole range of thoughts crowding through his head. He knew Toby was going to tell Josh to wait at work until he called, now that he was safe at the hospital. He knew he hadn't wanted to be admitted, but he never imagined Tim would refuse to treat him. The nurse pressed him back against the raised pillows, "You need to relax, buddy." Her hand patted his chest, "Please? Is there someone I can call for you?" Sam shook his head and frowned at the ceiling. His throat was still sore and he lifted the mask, 

"Could I please have some water?" 

"Sure." She brought him a cup full and he swallowed, grimacing with pain. 

"You have a sore throat?" Sam nodded as she readjusted the mask over his face. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows. A warm hand grasped one of his cold ones, "I'll get you something for the pain." 

* 

The nurse brought one of the ER doctors over to examine Sam. 

"He doesn't seem to be responding so well to the nebuliser, and I can't get him to relax. Is there some relaxant or sedative we can use?" 

"Not during an attack. He needs all the energy he can muster just to keep breathing." The young doctor offered his hand to Sam, "Hi, I'm Dr Burnett." Sam shook his hand. The doctor unslung his stethoscope and listened to Sam's lungs, a frown of concentration on his face. He looked up at the nurse after a minute, "Why hasn't anyone called Respiratory down? He's been here - " he glanced at the chart, "over an hour." 

"We did. Tim was here, but he stormed off, said it was our call." 

"What the hell?" 

"My fault," croaked Sam. 

"When did this attack start?" 

"About eight." 

"What's wrong with your voice?" 

"Had an attack yesterday too." 

"Did Tim know this?" Sam nodded jerkily, suddenly feeling his eyes prickle with emotion. He pressed them closed with his finger and thumb. The nurse rubbed his arm soothingly, 

"It's okay, Sam. You're doing okay." She locked eyes with the doctor, "I think he's really tired." 

"I'd say you're right." He stared at Sam with consternation. Here was a physically fit looking man, well-dressed, intelligent, but clearly near the end of his tether. He patted Sam on the leg, "I'm gonna call upstairs again." 

"John!" A shout distracted him. "Crash coming in - we need you out front." John Burnett turned back, "Stay on the nebuliser until I get back here." There was a rush of sirens and, for the next few minutes, a buzz of activity swept through the ER. Sam watched him bustle back in with paramedics and two, no, three gurneys. _Must have been some accident._

He lay back, trying to focus on relaxing, but his body ached with the strenuous effort of trying to breathe. He definitely preferred the treatment up in Respiratory, where nebulisers were almost phased out. The nurse had helped ease the pain in his throat but the weariness he felt was like a heavy blanket wrapped around him. He closed his eyes. 

* 

A coughing fit roused him again and he looked around the ER. Things seemed to have quietened a little. There was a woman leaning against a wall near his bed, a sticking plaster on her forehead, crying. Sam started with surprise and he gasped, causing a long round of wheezy coughing. The woman looked up and she too jerked with recognition. She walked over to his bedside, a wobbly smile on her lips. 

"Sam Seaborn." 

"Anna \- Anna Casey," he spluttered. He leaned forward and dragged off the mask of the nebuliser, coughing into the towel that the nurse had thoughtfully laid across his lap. Anna automatically came close and rubbed her hand up and down his back, feeling the tension and wheeziness in his lean body. She felt the pressure of her own despair lessen a little, welcoming the opportunity to focus on someone else. Sam finally settled and leaned back wearily, eyeing Anna with concern and curiosity. 

"What happened?" he croaked. 

Her eyes watered, "Oh, Sam, it's awful, something went wrong with the car tonight, and we - we spun out of control and hit another car and - and Simon's hurt. They're working on him now." Sam patted the bed. She sat down and leaned into his shoulder, sobbing. Sam hugged her for a moment. 

"Did you call Dev?" 

"He's on his way." She sat up and looked at him closely through red-rimmed eyes, "Is your breathing playing up again? Poor Sam." She put an arm around his shoulder and passed him the mask. He shook his head but she replaced it anyway, rubbing his arm gently, ignoring his mournful blue eyes. 

Moments later, Devon O'Reilly appeared at the foot of the bed, smiling grimly. 

"Anna?" 

"Oh, Dev!" She ran towards her brother and threw her arms around his neck. "Simon's still being worked on over there - " she waved a hand at one of the examining rooms. "It wasn't our fault - it was the car." Fresh tears spilled onto her cheeks and Devon held her close, peering over her head at Sam, 

"What in God's good name are you doing here, Sammy?" Sam shrugged miserably, pressing a hand against his chest. "Oh, that breathing trouble again?" He manoeuvred Anna over to Sam's bed and they shook hands. "You poor old thing. What a bummer!" He sat Anna back on Sam's bed and embraced Sam, mask and all. "Still good to see ya, even under foul circumstances." He turned to Anna, "Now let's go find out about Simon then we can come back here and sit with Sam." 

Minutes later he came back alone. "Simon's gonna be fine, I think, they thought he had a collapsed lung, but it's rib fractures only." He still looked shocked, "Anna's going upstairs with him." He pulled a chair up to Sam's bed, "What a thing to happen, eh? He's supposed to be meeting Bartlet tomorrow - what?!" 

Sam had frozen, his eyes huge, and mouth open. He slowly lowered the mask and stared stupefied at Devon. "Oh God!" 

"What? What?!" 

"I - I \- I think he's killed before, and Simon - Simon was the only thing in his way this time - oh." He coughed then and Devon looked around worriedly, finally settling on a glass of water, which he handed to Sam. Sam sipped and spluttered and finally leaned back, thinking. He put a hand out and gripped Devon's wrist. 

"You gotta get me out of here. I think it's - well, Dev - " Sam looked pleadingly at his lawyer friend, and his hoarse voice was a whisper, "I think this is Warner's work, the car. I bet they'll find that car was interfered with. You have to impound that car before - " he stopped and gasped, his face pale, "Before he gets to it." 

"Warner? You mean _James_ Warner, Simon's opposition for the post?" 

Sam nodded jerkily. "I think, maybe he has killed someone before. Haven't any proof yet - " and in halting and wheezy whispers, Sam revealed his theory about the disappearance of Tessa Rove. "I think her body'll be buried under those bricks outside the Electoral Office in Warm Springs." 

Devon O'Reilly stared at Sam in wonder. "But he was the Sheriff!" 

"So?" 

"Yeah..." Devon was quiet, mulling over the picture, then his face darkened, "Simon said Warner had made him feel very uncomfortable about his nomination a few months ago. If there's any truth to your theory, Sammy, then he tried to kill Simon AND Anna tonight." He stood up, punching a fist into the palm of his hand, "Dammit, we need to check this out." 

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, "I'm coming." 

"Hey, no, you look like hell." 

"Dev - " 

They managed to get out after Sam signed a release against medical advice and within minutes were speeding towards the police station. Devon became the fierce lawyer of his reputation, demanding immediate investigations into the damaged car, total security of the car while it was impounded, and an enquiry into the whereabouts of James Warner. "But he'll be covered," he muttered to Sam out of the corner of his mouth. 

Then they planned to head for Devon's office, to look into making a case for a warrant to investigate the brickwork, but Sam realised his notes were all at the West Wing and he knew he wasn't up to his usual standard of recall so Devon deviated there. Sam was wheezing quietly the whole way, relying on his inhaler to relieve the heaviness, but it wasn't really having much of an impact. He knew he should have stayed in the hospital but this had become personal and he felt compelled to help Devon find the truth - was it a possibility that the car had been interfered with? 

* 

Tim had meticulously and irritatingly checked every patient on his ward and decided to go home. He finished his notes at the Nurses' Station and looked across at Carmel, 

"I'll be off soon." 

"Good. Go get some rest. You've been a pain in the ass ever since Mandy passed away." 

Tim stared at her defiantly but she held his gaze and he finally looked down. "Guess I have. Sorry." 

"I should think so. Go home, Tim, we need you back on deck fresh in the morning." 

"Yeah." He rose wearily. 

"Oh, wait, there're a couple of messages," she rattled through the papers on her desk, retrieving her message pad, "Nate said Mr Thomas is a positive for emphysema, and the ER said the patient you dumped on has discharged himself AMA. What was that about?" 

"How could that happen?" Tim looked alarmed. 

"I don't know." 

Tim recalled Sam's shocked face and felt an ache of irresponsibility and of having let down someone who'd become a friend. "Shit!" he muttered. 

"What'd you do? Who was it?" 

"Sam Seaborn, the guy from the West Wing." 

"Why didn't you bring him up here?" 

"I was narked at him, he looked terrible, and I was still smarting over Mandy. I kind of -" he broke off. 

"Oh God! What'd you do?" 

Tim buried his face wearily in his hands, "Damn!" he muttered. "I yelled at him then stormed off." 

"But Sam's a neat guy! I thought you two got on really well." 

"We did! We do. I - I just - " he glanced at his watch, "I'd better catch up with him. Get his file, and I'll track him down. I need phone numbers." Carmel turned to her computer. 

* 

Sam and Dev reached the West Wing and Sam signed Devon in as a visitor. Toby wasn't in his office but Ginger was still there and she jumped up, 

"Sam! I thought you were in GW! Are you okay?" 

Sam stared at her wearily, "Not really, but Dev here really needs to - " he broke off, coughing and wheezing, unable to inhale properly. Devon took him by the arm, steadying him as he fought for breath, 

"I need to talk to Toby, lassie, is he about?" 

"I'm right here. And what the hell are you doing here, Sam?" Toby could see at a glance that Sam was still unwell. Sam leaned into Devon's grasp and tried to answer but could only drag in another shallow breath. Toby rolled his eyes and indicated that the two men go into his office. Devon sat Sam in the corner of the couch, and explained to Toby the events of the evening. Toby grew very still as the Irishman explained Sam's suspicions, as well as his own misgivings about Warner as an opponent. Toby phoned Leo, speaking quietly, then swung sideways and began to bounce a rubber ball against the cupboard. Sam knew he was cogitating, but the thud of the ball seemed to reverberate around his head. He kicked off his shoes and drew his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead into the bones of his knees, rocking gently, taking tiny breaths through clenched teeth. Devon paced up and down. 

A few minutes later, Toby stood, "Wait here, Sam," he instructed, indicating Devon follow him. Sam was too weary to protest. He didn't even look up. So he was a little surprised when the couch cushions dipped and familiar fingers encircled his wrist - Josh, and a vaguely recognisable perfume wafted into Sam's nostrils, Dr Bartlet. He sighed. 

The fingers waggled his wrist impatiently, "Sam? What's going on? I know why Dev's here but _why_ did you leave the hospital? You sound terrible." 

Sam felt his eyes water and dug his eyeballs harder into his knees, lifting his shoulders slightly. There was a rustle of clothing and he sensed Abby had crouched beside him. Sure enough, her hand dropped onto his shoulder, 

"Sam, we think you need to go back, finish getting treatment." Sam shook his head again, his eyes hot and prickly. He was _not_ going to cry. Not here. He was too tired though. He had no fight left. 

"Sam?" Abby again. Her finger snaked in and lifted his chin, and he reluctantly raised his head, a couple of tears snaking out from under tightly clenched lids. 

"Jeez!" Josh stared at his ashen features, and he leaned in and wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him against his shoulder. Sam shuddered, shaking from the inhaler overdose, wheezing noisily. "I think he's all in." Josh's voice was a deep rumble in his chest and Sam drew comfort from that. After a moment, he slowly straightened and stared into Josh's warm, worried face, 

"Sorry. Josh, Simon's in the hospit-" he coughed again. 

"It's okay, we know. But maybe you need to be there too, champ." Sam's lips twitched at the old term of endearment, and he blinked rapidly. 

Abby was wielding a stethoscope, "Mind if I have a listen?" Sam shrugged resignedly, tugging at his shirt, as Toby's phone rang. Josh stood up and crossed to the desk to answer it. By the time Abby finished her investigation, Josh had hung up. 

"That was an apologetic Tim Woods. A _very_ apologetic Tim. A very _concerned_ Tim. He wants you on his ward within the next fifteen minutes or he's sending an ambulance." 

Abby smirked, "Now that's the sort of behaviour I approve of! What happened with Tim?" 

"He apparently spat the dummy at our Sam for turning up exhausted and sick after burrowing through the dusty files of the electoral office of Warm Springs, Georgia. He had just had a nasty death on the ward and he was reactive, and he's terribly upset about it now." 

Abby snorted. "Especially since his patient clocked out AMA. Samuel, you're one determined and stubborn individual. Josh, will you be returning this patient to his proper ward?" Sam stared at the floor, embarrassed. Josh must have nodded, because Abby lifted Sam's chin again with her finger and made him look at her, her face serious. She gazed into his blue eyes, "Kiddo, you're exhausted. You won't have the strength to fight this asthma in a few hours. You need to get treatment and get some rest. You've passed on the information everyone needs. It's time to stop now." Sam's eyes were full of emotion and she gently patted his cheek, "Up you get, go with Josh and get well. All right?" 

Sam stood up slowly, Abby's grip firm on his upper arm, her eyes on his face. Josh took the other arm, 

"Let's go!" 

"What about Dev?" 

"Toby'll look after him." Josh glanced at Abby and she nodded, 

"Time to get going. Josh, take care of him." 

"Sure." 

"Sam, I don't want to see you back until this attack is well and truly over. Got that?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Her tone softened, "Take it easy, kiddo. You mean a lot to us." Sam nodded shyly. With a final squeeze of his arm, she let them go, wincing as Sam coughed wheezily. 

* * * 

The night nurse perched her hip on the side of Sam's bed, and took his hand in hers, "Rough night, huh?" 

Sam nodded wearily. It had taken several hours for his airways to respond to any medication, and even now his chest still felt hot and heavy. He smiled wanly at her, 

"What's the time?" 

"Nearly four. Sun'll be up soon, should be a lovely day. What time do you normally get up?" 

"Five forty-five." 

"Well, you can sleep in this morning. Just - you'll need to get to sleep first." Sam laughed gently and she squeezed his hand, "C'mon, just lie back and close your eyes, I promise I'll keep an eye on you." 

"How'd you know?" 

"This is a scary ward. They should call it the insomnia ward! Lots of patients are scared to sleep here, worried they won't wake in the morning." She took out a stethoscope, "Let's see what your chances are." Grinning with embarrassment, Sam leaned forward a little, lifting his hospital gown and let the nurse listen to his chest. 

Ten minutes later, when she looked in, he was asleep, and she smiled. 

* * * 

The President gestured towards a chair and James Warner sat down, a confident smirk on his face. Jed Bartlet sat heavily on his own chair and Leo perched on the sofa, Toby beside him. There was a silence as they all waited for the President to start speaking. He wrung his hands for a moment then caught Warner's eye, and there was something in his expression that wiped the smirk off Warner's wide, weather-beaten features. 

"Mr Warner. You come to this position well qualified, and we have been through your credentials with a fine toothcomb, as you would expect. You've had a long and fascinating career in with the law." 

"Yes, sir." 

"And of course we regret that we cannot interview you opponent, Simon Casey, because of his unfortunate accident last night. I'm sure you heard about that." 

"Yes, sir, Mr President, it was a terrible thing to happen." 

"He will make a full recovery, but it was a close thing, a very close thing, both for him and his wife, Anna." Warner seemed to stiffen slightly, but Toby wondered if he had imagined that. Bartlet continued, "Still, you're here, so we need to have a little chat about a few things in the past that we wouldn't want to come back and bite us in the butt if they were to prove to be more than meaningless rumours, right?" 

"I - I don't follow, sir." Warner was clearly unsettled now. 

"You have had an almost impeccable career, Mr Warner, and you seem well suited to a promotion, but we were concerned about a few matters that took place a long while back, in the eighties, in Warm Springs. You were sheriff there, correct?" 

"You must know that already, sir." 

"No need for impertinence, James. We just want to make sure everything is crystal clear, all right? Now," he continued smoothly, "tell me about the financial records Sam dragged up here from the electoral office." 

"Sam? Seaborn was - was in Warm Springs?" Warner was definitely unsettled now. 

"He was, and it wasn't kind to him at all. He's rather ill in hospital right now, otherwise he'd be sitting here, perched on the edge of the sofa champing at the bit to have words with you. Because Sam wasn't very happy about the financial avenues you were exploring then, James, not very happy at all. And now that we have read his report, we are not so happy either." Bartlet glanced across at Leo, who rattled some papers, 

"There are a number of questionable entries, withdrawals, transfers, and cover-ups involving electoral monies coming into the office there. I have all the evidence here." 

"That \- that was all a long time ago. I'm sure things have been muddled somehow, Seaborn must have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick. Maybe he was already sick when he went down, didn't get things straight." 

Leo cleared his throat, "You're fishing for crap, Warner. Sam was fit as a fiddle when he went down there, and his report is very thorough, and every detail is backed up with evidence." He swung round to look innocently at Toby, "He's your Deputy, Toby, would you say Sam is thorough?" 

Toby snorted, "Sam would spot a missing paper clip." 

Bartlet drew the attention back his way, "So you see, James, we have every faith that Sam did a good job down there, and he's suffering for it now, no doubt about that, but there are more questions we need to ask, and this would have to be the most important one - " he let his voice slide along naturally, "James, what can you tell us about Tessa Rove?" The question was so casual that Warner almost missed it. Then he started, and his face seemed to crumple inwards. He looked quickly at Leo and Toby but met only patient stares. 

"Tessa?" his voice was no longer confident, but he visibly straightened in his chair, "Tessa Rove - ah, of course I remember her." 

It was Toby's turn to join in, "Where is she now? She was having a relationship with you at the time, right?" 

"I - uh - there was some contact between us. We were very close friends, that's all." 

"Close friends?" Toby rubbed his forehead, then glanced down at Sam's notes, and read from them, clearly quoting Tessa's correspondence, " _Darling, I miss you so much. I can't bear to continue life with Lucas. I can't wait 'til we can move in together. Please hurry up with the paperwork_." Toby shifted to another passage, " _Mexico is going to be glorious, just you and me and our dream house, it'll be a dream come true for me, darling Jamie_." Toby looked directly at Warner but spoke to Bartlet, "It appears, Mr President, that election funds were used to purchase a residence in Mexico, and the purchaser and his 'wife' certainly viewed the property, but the purchaser never resided there, nor did his 'wife'. The purchaser was Mr Warner and the 'wife' fits the description of Mrs Rove." 

"Sam could find that out?" Bartlet was impressed. 

"He could and he did!" 

Bartlet swung back to Warner, "Anything you can say in your defence?" 

"Defence? I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir." 

Leo sighed, "What happened to Tessa Rove, James?" 

"I've no idea." 

"Why did you organise the brickwork to be laid around the electoral office in late November?" 

"I - I \- this is impertinent!" 

"What would we find if we lifted those bricks, James?" 

"Oh my God." Warner's face collapsed and turned grey. He buried his face in his hands. 

Leo stood up, "This interview is over. Warner, come with me, there are some people who want to have a word with you." Warner rose shakily, unable to meet anyone's eye now, and followed Leo meekly out of the office. 

Bartlet sat back, "That was almost too easy, Toby. He couldn't even put up a fight." 

Toby nodded, "Yes, sir." 

"How's Sam?" 

"I saw briefly him this morning. He looked exhausted but he's responding to treatment so he can probably go home tonight." 

"Good news then. And I need to set up a fresh meeting with Simon Casey. What's next?" 

* * * 

The Warm Springs sheriff stared at the pathologist from Atlanta, "You wanna lift the bricks around the electoral office in case there's a BODY under there? Surely it'll be nothin' but dust now." 

"We wanna see that dust then." 

* * * 

Sam had taken a taxi home and was in bed, reading, when they all piled into the apartment. He could hear the general merriment and clinking of bottles. There was a tantalising aroma of Chinese takeout as well, and he closed his book, folding his hands in his lap and waiting to see who came in. 

It was CJ. 

"Sam! Oh, how're you feeling?" She was taken aback by his exhausted face and pale skin, shadows round his eyes, and pain _in_ those eyes, and her heart melted a little. 

Sam smiled at her, "Hey, Ceej. I'm okay, kinda tired though." He ran a hand across his ribs, "Kinda sore too." 

She sat on the bed and fingered his blue t-shirt before pulling him into a huge hug. "I was so worried about you. Everyone said how awful you sounded and I was stuck with that presentation in New York." 

"How'd it go?" He leaned into her shoulder for a minute, immensely comforted by her embrace. 

"Fine, fine." They drew apart, "You up to joining us on the couch for a drink? What're you wearing under there?" She tugged at the bedclothes and Sam blushed, grabbing the comforter and pressing it to his stomach. 

"No way, Ceej!" 

"You've got nothing on?" 

"No! I mean, yes! I mean, I do have _something_ on." He blushed even more and CJ grinned at his discomfort. 

"Well, at least you don't look so washed out now!" She stood up. 

"Get Josh for me?" 

CJ smiled gently, "Sure, hon. You'll join us though?" 

"Wouldn't miss it!" He lay back as she slipped out of the room. Tim Woods had sat on Sam's hospital bed and read the riot act, and the most important thing right now was absolute bed rest for forty-eight hours. Well, the sofa was _like_ a bed, right? Tim had literally poked Sam in the chest as he emphasised Sam's need to look after himself every single day, and to stop when he was having any kind of difficulty at all. He sure was tired right now... 

"Hey you." A warm kiss on his nose. A hand holding his. A familiar scent. Sam opened his eyes slowly to find Josh right in front of him. 

"Hey, Josh." He smiled tiredly. Josh clambered over Sam and flopped down onto the pillows beside him. 

"Good to have you back home." 

"Good to _be_ home." They leaned into one another and Josh put his arms around his partner in a protective fashion, holding him tightly for a full minute, burying his face in Sam's shoulder, 

"God, I miss you when you're in hospital." 

Sam relaxed into Josh's arms and he heaved a huge sigh, "I miss you too. A lot." 

"You up to joining us for a drink? We've got takeout and they're saving you a spot on the couch. What'd Tim say?" He released Sam and sat up, watching Sam's face carefully. 

Sam rolled his eyes, "Total bed rest for two days. No exceptions. No work. Nothing." 

"Right, that's what you're doing then. It's Friday night anyway, so you just have to rest up over the weekend, like a regular person. Any chance you can pull it off?" 

"Pull what off?" 

"You acting like a regular person!" Josh snorted derisively. "C'mon, champ, let's go see the family." He pulled back the bedclothes and grinned at Sam's navy boxers. "Hmm, pants, anyone?" 

Sam climbed out of bed very slowly, and Josh's light banter died in his throat, Sam was clearly struggling to even get up. He quickly passed Sam some track pants and a baggy sweater, sitting him on the bed while he added socks. Sam was quiet, concentrating on his breathing, and had grown pale again. 

"Maybe you should stay here," Josh frowned. 

Sam shook his head and Josh helped him stand. They walked into the living room together, greeted cheerfully by Toby, CJ, and Devon O'Reilly who leapt to his feet, 

"Sam, you did a fine job!" They all looked a little taken aback at his fragile appearance, however, and they watched Josh settle Sam onto the couch, where he drew his feet up under himself and glanced around. Toby caught his eye and gave him a faint nod, and Sam replied with a tired smile, 

"Hey, Toby." His voice was soft and Toby nodded at him, 

"What'd the doctor say?" 

Josh grinned at him, "Two weeks complete bed rest! No work!" 

"Two weeks?" Toby spluttered, thrown, staring at Sam with consternation. 

"Days, Toby, two _days_." Sam glared at Josh reprovingly. "Josh is just yanking your chain." 

"Bastard!" muttered Toby into his beard, taking another swig of beer. 

Sam looked at Devon, and grinned,"Who let you in anyway?" 

"CJ said she couldn't last the evening without me." Devon patted CJ on the thigh and she slapped his hand away hard. "Hey!" 

"You're married!" 

"Oh." He downed his beer, "Thanks for reminding me." He stood up, "Sammy, I better get going anyway. Just wanted to see you on your feet. Take care now." He leaned down and shook Sam's hand, giving Josh a rough rub across his thinning hair, "You look after me boy, Josh. I got a real fright finding him there in the hospital yesterday." He slipped out, and everyone seemed to sigh simultaneously. 

CJ relaxed back on the sofa beside Sam, "He's like a whirlwind, that man. No wonder he stuns his opposition so often." 

"He's fiercely dedicated," Sam agreed. He leaned against CJ a little, as Josh got up to get another beer and turn on the television, and she put an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him gently, 

"You feeling all right so far?" Sam nodded but his eyes were heavy. He looked across at Toby, who was now staring at a baseball game, and felt relieved that he had come over tonight. Sam sometimes felt Toby shut them out, isolating himself, and he hated inconveniencing him by being unwell. Maybe he would be okay to go into work in the morning... CJ's fingers drummed on his shoulder, "Penny for them?" 

Sam started, and turned to look at her expressive eyes, "I - ah, was just thinking, in the morning, I might feel much better - " 

  
"Samuel Seaborn, don't you dare! Complete bed rest, remember?! That means you have to, like, Stay. In. Bed." CJ rolled her eyes and clipped him around the back of his head. 

"Ow!" 

"CJ, please don't damage my Deputy's brain any more than necessary. I'm already worried about the effects of the lack of oxygen!" Toby glared at Sam humorously. 

"Only if he promises to stay in bed." She raised her voice, "Josh?" Josh came back into the room carrying beer bottles and Chinese food containers, 

"What's wrong?" He plonked everything down on the coffee table, giving Sam a wink as he bent over. 

"Sam. He's thinking about work tomorrow." 

Josh sat down on the other side of Sam and drew him away from CJ and into his own circled arm, "Uh-uh, he's not going anywhere, don't you worry about that." 

Sam let his body soften against his lover's, "Was just a thought." His eyes closed for a moment, and he nearly drifted off but Josh shook him gently, 

"Hey, food first, then you can sleep." There was a satisfied silence as they all ate, watching the game. Sam wasn't very hungry and after a few minutes he settled back against Josh again and let his eyelids droop sleepily. Josh peeled the food container out of his hand and let Sam drift off. 

CJ looked at Sam with some sense of wonder, "God, he's beautiful when he's asleep. I haven't really seen Sam sleep so much. It's usually you on the bus or plane, head back, snoring." 

"I do not snore." 

Toby snorted, and CJ turned her attention upon him, "You're quiet. What's up, Tobus?" 

Toby flicked a dark glance at Sam. "He was really struggling yesterday. Maybe I shouldn't have sent him down to Georgia. None of this would've happened." 

"Toby, if Sam hadn't gone, we might not've known about Warner, and that pig of a man wouldn't be in police custody right now helping them with their enquiries. It's just Sam, not wanting to give in. He certainly doesn't blame you, and neither do we. Right, Josh?" 

"Oh, no, I blame him entirely!" 

* 

A short while later, Toby stood up, "We should get going, let you get some peace and quiet." CJ had patted Sam's sleeping head tenderly. Toby stared at Josh, "No work. He can't do any work, right?" Josh nodded. "You be in tomorrow?" 

Josh rested a hand on Sam's thigh, "I'll see how he is first. Then I'll probably come in." 

"Tomorrow then." 

After they had gone, Josh sat there for a while, watching the game, enjoying Sam's body heavy against his, and he wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder, letting his partner's head rest on his chest, a floppy arm curling unconsciously across Josh's belly. Sam was breathing loudly, evidence of a latent congestion caused by the asthma. Josh knew it would probably settle down and he held Sam a little more firmly. This had been a prolonged attack, a harder one to control but that may have been due to Sam's delaying tactics as he solved the riddle of James Warner. Was it just a couple of days since Sam had returned triumphant from his run, his chest clear? Josh rubbed his hand up and down Sam's arm. Poor Sam. He'd be so disappointed. Every attack set his fitness levels back, and he had been sure he was going to be fine all summer. 

Josh felt tired himself. He slipped out from under Sam's arm, letting him relax on the sofa, and took the food cartons and glasses out to the kitchen. Back in the living room, he stared down at his partner, feeling a surge of emotion. Sam was such a vibrant, intelligent man, so strong, so physically desirable - Josh stared at the golden skin at Sam's throat, momentarily aroused, - and this, this breathing problem - Josh sat down slowly on the coffee table, this was just a small thing, it didn't lessen any part of their relationship, it didn't make Sam any less capable of doing the amazing job that he did, and it was no way going to define Sam in any way. They'd just get through this and move on. Nodding and frowning with satisfaction, Josh knew he was now ready for the concerned, unsure Sam that was going to emerge in the morning, when Sam woke up realising he'd fallen asleep in front of his closest friends and colleagues. He gently shook Sam awake and pushed him into an upright position, "Bed time, buddy." Sam was groggy with sleep and within a minute had stumbled into bed, instantly asleep again. 

* 

It started at eight. Sam had slept until seven and was now sitting up in bed reading the Post. He had been quiet when they first woke, and Josh was just waiting now for the questions. He brought Sam a coffee and it started then, Sam putting the paper aside, 

"Did I fall asleep in front of everyone?" 

"Nope. Devon had gone." 

"But the others - " 

"Well, yeah, but no-one minded, you were really tired." Sam had looked at him in alarm, and had rubbed one hand up and down his rib cage, 

"They must think - well, I don't know what they think but - I mean, me getting sick like that - should I - I mean, does Toby think - I didn't mean - I mean, I - " he sighed, "Noting was meant to happen like it did." He looked so miserable that Josh sat down beside him and rested a hand on Sam's thigh through the blanket. 

"Sam, you're a great guy. You're intelligent and attractive and sensitive, and you got sick, and hey, no-one minds! Get that? No-one minds except that everyone gets worried about you, because it's you and they don't want to see you unwell. Got that?" He waited as Sam nodded hesitantly. "Good. Now, what they do mind is when you put the _job_ before _you_ , running around hunting down murderers instead of resting in the hospital. That's what they mind. Jeez, that's what I mind too." Sam looked embarrassed. "And that's what friends are for, to care about you. But you have to care about you too, get it?" Another hesitant nod. "Good." Josh crawled over Sam's legs and knelt close beside him on the bed, facing him. He reached out and wrapped his hands around Sam's ribcage, "When trouble starts in here, I want you to drop whatever you're doing and get treatment. And I really mean it, Sam, I don't want you to keep working while you can't breathe properly." He was silent for a moment, feeling the soft rise and fall of Sam's chest. Then he changed positions, lying on the bed on his side on one elbow, and laid his other hand across Sam's stomach, gently rubbing back and forth, "I love you so much." His voice was husky with emotion and arousal and his hand pressed into Sam's belly, back and forth, the slight friction arousing Sam too, and he slid down in the bed to lie flat, closing his eyes and moaning gently. Josh kept rubbing Sam's stomach, his fingers firm and caressing and he dug deeper with his fingertips, Sam's hips moving in response and as one they rolled towards one another and indulged in a very slow, gentle, passionate lovemaking. 

Afterwards, Sam slept and Josh went to work. Sam slept for several hours, waking close to lunchtime, still tired but physically relaxed for the first time since Wednesday. He lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about Tessa Rove and her desperate desire to move in with Warner - _I can't wait any longer_ \- the words echoed around his head, and he thought about his own father's mistress - had she reached a point after all those years when she couldn't live apart from him any longer? Or had he? Had his own father decided it was time? Sam shuddered at that and rolled onto his side. How had Tessa died, if it was true that she had died back then? Had it been a brutal murder? Warner would have been a strong man. Sam flipped back onto his back. Imagine if his father had decided to get rid of his mother. He rolled his eyes at himself, but immediately thought, imagine if his mother had killed his father, a crime of passion at the revelation of the long affair... Sam rolled onto the other side but the stitches in his head pressed into the pillow and he returned to his back. He rested one hand on his stomach. Josh had a way of touching him there that dissolved him with some sort of powerful arousal. He smiled gently, relieved to have something more pleasant to think about. Josh. He ran a finger around the waistband of his boxers, then laid his hand flat against the warm skin. Josh. He patted his stomach and wriggled a little with contentment. Sighing happily, he let his eyes slowly close and he drifted back to sleep. 

* * * 

They spent the late afternoon reading, Sam in bed and Josh on it. There was a close, companionable silence for an hour or so. A light rain pattered against the windows and the air was cool. Josh glanced over at Sam, 

"You warm enough?" 

"Sure. You?" 

"Mmm." Josh read on for a little longer before he sensed that Sam wasn't reading anymore. He looked up. Sam was staring off into space, his hands resting loosely on the pages, his eyes unfocused. Josh watched. Sam looked kind of sad and he wondered what emotions were fluttering around in his head. He closed his book and sat up, moving around to sit cross-legged and face his partner. He leaned his elbows on his knees and just watched an oblivious Sam. Sam's eyes were haunted, highlighted by dark shadows of tiredness and the strain of two asthma attacks in two days. His mouth rested in a slight pout and Josh watched him, fascinated. After a couple of minutes, Sam shivered suddenly, and Josh reached out and touched his hand, 

"Sam?" 

"Huh?" Sam turned to focus on Josh, startled. "What're you doing?" 

"You shivered. Put the sweater back on." Sam took off his glasses and donned the sweater, frowning slightly at Josh's position. 

"What're you doing?" 

"Watching you." 

"Why?" 

"Because I like it. You looked really sad though, what were you thinking about?" 

Sam stared at his hands, "Just me being - getting sick, you know, whether I - what I should do about it." His hands trembled slightly and Josh realised that this was a big deal right now to Sam. He shuffled a little closer and took Sam's hands in his own. 

"All you have to do is look after yourself. That's all we want from you." He searched Sam's face to see if he got the message. There was still confusion there, 

"But, but if I - if I'm like this - " he pulled one hand away from Josh and waved it over his chest, "like this, it's taking time from work. And - " his eyes dropped again. 

"And what?" 

"You. I don't want to make things hard for you. The job is hard enough." 

Josh took Sam's hand back again, so that he held both hands and he shook them gently, forcing Sam to look right at him, "Sam, you listening to me?" Sam nodded hesitantly, his blue eyes fixed intently on Josh's brown ones. "There is nothing that can ruin this - this us. Nothing. We both have things, and we're both healing, and there are sometimes setbacks, but we're together on this. You and me. We're like - " he rolled his eyes, "Abbott and Costello." 

"Bonnie and Clyde?" 

"Eek. Hope and Crosby!" 

"Yeah, right, with a woman in the middle? How about Gilbert and Sullivan?" 

"Noooooooo!" Josh made puking sounds. 

"Starsky and Hutch?" 

"Only if I get to be Starsky." 

"Bert and Ernie?" 

"Oh yes, you're definitely Bert." 

"I'm so not!" 

"I bet you had a paper clip collection once." 

"Bet you had a rubber duckie." 

"Oh, oh \- " Josh began to rock with laughter, "I know!" 

"What?" 

"The Odd Couple!" Josh rolled over onto one side, laughing, "and you're so Felix, so so Felix, oh my God, oh, yes!" he chortled hysterically, covering his eyes. Sam grinned menacingly and put his book on the bedside table, placing his glasses on top, then he lifted his legs out of the bedclothes and crawled across to Josh, pinning him to the bed, 

"Take that back!" he laughed, trying to sound threatening. He pinned Josh's arms to the bed, "I am not a Felix!" 

Josh was unperturbed, "You are! You are!" he insisted, enjoying the game. 

"If I'm Felix, then you're Oscar! All the way." He struggled to hold Josh down, and Josh easily flipped him onto his back. Sam started to cough though, and had to sit up, shoulders heaving. Josh rubbed his back and waited for the cough to subside, then he flattened Sam against the mattress again, 

"You're too weak to fight me right now." But he saw sudden hurt glint in Sam's eyes for a moment, and realised in a flash that Sam was trying to be normal, to look past the cough and the asthma and the recurrent chest infections and Josh was moved by a sweeping wave of sympathy for his dogged lover, and he swept Sam up into a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. "I'm sorry. Sam, it won't always be like this. I know it won't. And it makes no difference to me, none at all." He leaned out and looked into Sam's moist eyes, "D'you love me less for the PTSD?" 

Sam's eyes filled to almost overflowing, and he whispered, "I love you more for it." 

Josh pulled him back into a hug, "It's the same for me. If this is you right now, I love this because it's you, nothing more, nothing less. It's just one more battle and we're good at fighting battles, right?" 

Sam nodded against his shoulder and held Josh tightly. After a few moments, he pulled back and swiped surreptitiously at his eyes with his sleeve, 

"I'm just tired, Josh. It's like I'm under fire, and I get that enough already at work. I'm fighting against my own body as well." 

"Just as I'm fighting my mind, Sam. You know what though, I think you're doing fine." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

"You too." 

"Yeah?" 

"Absolutely." Sam shivered. "I'm cold." 

"Get back into bed." 

Sam crawled back under the covers. "I'm tired too." He leaned against the pillows, coughing a little, and smiled wearily at Josh. 

Josh climbed off the bed, "I'm gonna see what we can have for dinner. You get some rest." 

Sam let his eyes close, then he opened them a crack, "Hey?" 

"Yeah?" Josh stopped at the door. 

Sam had a wicked grin on his face, but Josh couldn't see it, "If I'm having a problem with dust, does this mean you'll have to do the dusting from now on?" 

Josh froze, one hand on the door, a horrified look on his face, "Uh - um, yeah, sure..." he faltered before sliding out of the door and shutting it firmly behind him. Sam grinned widely and slid down under the covers to sleep.


End file.
